Holding Court
by rindy713
Summary: Bobby works on recovering from his mother's death and discovering his future. An alternate universe story line, with BA relationship developing and MC already together.
1. Just Playing

**Heartfelt thanks to Dick Wolf, Vincent D'Onofrio, Kathryn Erbe and the gang for letting me borrow what belongs to them - and to anyone who takes the time to read this.**

**Chapter 1 – Just Playing**

Bobby Goren wiped the sweat that was stinging his eyes and slid his fingers along the side of his dark blue shorts. His gray T-shirt was too soaked to dry anything. Crouching slightly, he stepped up to within a few feet of Mike Logan, just enough so that he could cut off a quick move to the basket but not so much that he couldn't step in close in case Mike pulled up for a jump shot.

Mike smiled crookedly as he bounced the ball. "Think you can stop me, Goren?" he asked. "Two more points and you're finished."

"You haven't hit a layup on me yet," Bobby taunted. "Let's see you take a man's shot for once. Show me you can score from inside five feet."

"Right, buddy. You asked for it," Mike retorted, grinning wickedly. Suddenly he feinted right, then dribbled left and drove toward the hoop. Bobby went strong for the fake but recovered surprisingly quickly and moved to cut Mike off at a spot a few feet from the basket. As Mike leaped to lay the ball against the metal backboard, Bobby jumped and reached as high as he could. Mike pushed the ball softly off his fingertips, but the slight awkwardness of using his left hand and the interference of Bobby's arms caused him to miss the spot he was aiming for.

The ball hit the rim and bounced high, and Bobby spun to face the basket, using his body to keep Mike away from the rebound. They jumped, but Bobby's superior position assured that he would come down with the ball. Laughing joyously, he practically skipped away from the hoop to a fair distance from which to start his own move.

"Don't insult me with that lame left-handed shit, Logan!" Bobby exulted. "You can't beat me at my own game."

"It ain't over yet, Goren," Mike barked. "Let's see you prove you can hit from _outside_ five feet!"

Mike stepped backward until he was almost under the basket, daring Bobby to shoot from a distance. "C'mon, Goren. Prove to me you've got a jump shot."

Summoning up his best I'm-annoyed-and-I'll-show-you expression as he suppressed another laugh, Bobby took a few steps toward the hoop and pulled up. Mike started moving as soon as Bobby did, closing the gap quickly enough that Bobby's 12-foot shot was not uncontested. Again, the ball hit the rim.

Bobby had followed his shot and was able to get a hip in front of Mike, but the ball bounced high and away from him, and that gave Mike enough of an edge to retrieve it. A full 20 feet from the basket, he whirled, rose into the air and flicked his wrist, sending the ball on a perfect arc that didn't even draw iron as it dropped through the hoop.

"Ballgame!" he yelled with a smirk of satisfaction. "You're toast again, Goren."

"Beautiful shot, Mike," Bobby said, shaking his head. "I think you could hit that all day if you wanted to."

"That's OK, kid," Mike said, clapping Bobby on the back as they walked to a small set of bleachers next to the court. "You keep watching me and practicing, and one day maybe you'll be able to shoot like that."

Grabbing a towel and wiping his face and his salt-and-pepper curls, Bobby laughed and poked Mike in the ribs. "And you keep watching me and practicing, and someday you'll learn how to rebound."

"Who needs that?" Mike retorted. "All the girls love us handsome, fast, slick shooters. Big lugs like you who anchor themselves under the basket never get any real action."

"You can have all that action," Bobby said with a shrug. "There's bound to be someone who appreciates the finer points of the game. That's the one I'll settle for."

"Hmm. Anyone in particular who might appreciate your finer points, Goren?"

"Knock it off, Mike. Otherwise I might have to point out that somebody might not care as much for you if she had to fight through a crowd of admirers all the time."

"Ouch. My, aren't we touchy," Mike said, feigning an injured look. "Seriously, Bobby, you let me have that last shot. You just stood there. Why didn't you come out and contest it?"

"I don't know. I just like to watch you shoot that jumper. I guess I just got caught up in watching and forgot that it was the winning shot," Bobby said, shrugging.

"Hey, man, where are your competitive instincts? You're a good player, Bobby, but sometimes I wonder if there's enough fight in you to be the best you can be."

"Aw, it's just for fun, Mike. I don't really feel that competitive about it," Bobby said, leaning back and putting his elbows on the second row. A cool breeze ruffled his curls, and he drew in a refreshing breath of late October air. They had been playing for almost two hours, and he felt comfortably tired after such a good workout.

Mike reached into a small cooler and handed Bobby a bottle of Gatorade. He took one for himself, and they both drank deeply. The small park was quiet for a city spot, with only a little bit of nearby traffic at midafternoon on a Saturday. An occasional shout could be heard in the distance, from some kids hanging out down the block.

Bobby closed his eyes and relaxed, enjoying the moment, feeling better than he had in a long time. He was vaguely aware that he was healing inside and a little surprised that it was happening as fast as it was. It had been five months since he had laid his mother to rest, since he had begun the tug of war between the pain, guilt and despair that had claimed most of his life and the love and hope for something better that the people close to him offered. In this moment, healthily weary, happily in the company of a good buddy and pleasantly anticipating the evening, which he would be able to spend with _her_, he had a sense that the latter team was winning the battle. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. His thoughts again went to her, as they so often did.

Mike slapped him on the knee, interrupting his reverie. "Hey, Bobby, don't fall asleep on me. If we don't head out now, one of us will still be in the shower when the girls get to your place."

"OK, Mike. We don't want to be late," Bobby agreed, rising to his feet. "Let's get going."


	2. Casual Conversation

**Chapter 2 – Casual Conversation**

The soft light that fell across their booth at Harvey's Bar & Grill was just right for letting her eyes wander without being obvious. Alex Eames, seated next to Bobby, had turned to just the right angle – facing one of the TV screens over the bar, pretending to watch the last few minutes of the Notre Dame-Southern Cal football game but actually sneaking quick glimpses of her partner.

He looked breathtakingly handsome in his snug-fitting black jeans and powder blue polo shirt, his face and arms glowing with a tan built through a summer of Saturday afternoon basketball. But she especially appreciated the unfurrowed brow and easy smile, the relaxed laugh as the foursome settled in for a few hours of pleasant company and conversation.

She didn't notice Carolyn Barek watching her, but Carolyn wasn't missing much. Sometimes Carolyn felt a strong temptation to kick Bobby Goren in the shin and tell him to get busy doing what she knew both Bobby and Alex wanted to do, but this evening she simply sighed and accepted that with Goren, nothing was ever that easy.

Carolyn and Mike must have had the conversation hundreds of times, with Mike warning her not to push ("Bobby will figure things out in his own time, and Alex wants him to set the pace.") and her expressing exasperation ("He's supposed to be such a genius, and he still doesn't get it after all they've been through?") before agreeing to keep her mouth shut.

The waitress who had brought their drinks was back for their order.

"I'd like the cheeseburger, medium, with fries," Alex told her. Carolyn asked for a salad, and Mike ordered a hamburger and onion rings.

"And you, sir?" the waitress asked, leaning closer and giving Bobby the same long look and bright smile she did every time he came in.

"The grilled chicken sandwich and a side salad with Italian dressing," he said, flashing her a polite but not too encouraging smile.

"After two hours of heart-pounding hoops, you're going to pick at a plate of diet food?" Mike asked in mock astonishment.

"It's not diet food, Mike. It's healthy food. Besides, I am going to enjoy some beers," Bobby retorted, raising the frosty mug and taking a big gulp.

"Thank goodness you are, Bobby, or I'd sure feel guilty about the junk I'm eating," Alex said with a smile.

"Are you kidding? With all the running you do, you need all the calories you can get. You're just carbo-loading," he said, his eyes bright with admiration as he gazed into hers.

"Well, I am running a 10K in the morning, but I hardly need to carbo-load for something as short as that," Alex said bashfully.

"Short?" Mike said with a snort. "Nothing short about a 10K."

"Unless you're a marathon runner like Eames," Bobby pointed out.

"Well, I'd hardly call myself a marathon runner. I've only run three of them."

"That's three more than I'll ever run," Bobby said with a laugh. "I couldn't even keep you in sight if I tried the 10K. I'd probably embarrass myself."

"I'm not so sure of that, Bobby," Alex said, a bit of a challenge in her eyes. "Maybe you should run with me sometime. All the basketball you've been playing this summer has gotten you into good shape."

"I don't know about that," Bobby said with a shrug. "I've just been having fun."

Alex smiled at that. It was true, and it was good to hear him say it. She remembered how he'd looked in May and June, exhausted from caring for his mom in her final days, overweight from a diet of junk food and soft drinks that he had forced down to keep going, and then haunted by the revelation, confirmed by a confidential DNA test, that his father was not the alcoholic, gambling womanizer who deserted his family when Bobby was 11, but rather was a serial rapist and killer who was executed within hours of his mother's death.

It had been so much, all piling up on top of him, that Alex had feared it would finally break Bobby. And for a while, his depression had dug in so deep that even she could barely reach him. But the seeds of healing had been sown almost from the moment his mother had slipped away. Alex had gone to him, sitting alone in the dark at Carmel Ridge, and stayed by his side throughout the ordeal of arrangements and services. Though he couldn't respond to her, he had accepted her calming presence.

And at the funeral, he had been startled (and Alex thrilled) to see so many people, most of whom had never even met his mother – Mike and Carolyn and Jimmy Deakins, of course, but also Ross, Carver, several other detectives from Major Case, Fin and several co-workers from Special Victims, the chief of detectives, the deputy commissioner whose daughter's murder he and Eames had solved. The realization that they were there for him had found its way to his spirit, and the healing had begun to take root.

His closest friends had closed ranks around him throughout the summer. Eames had managed to get him to talk to Olivia Benson from SVU to help him cope with the horror of his paternal background. She had reinforced what his mind knew but his heart had difficulty accepting: that he was no more likely to follow in his father's footsteps than he was to become a schizophrenic like his mother. A tendency to rape and murder could not be inherited, and he was beyond the age when schizophrenia usually began to manifest itself.

Remarkably, despite his parents' abnormal psychology and the physical and emotional abuse he had suffered in his childhood, he was a responsible, caring adult. With all his scars and fears, he had never damaged anyone – except himself, and Alex knew he was trying hard to stop doing that.

"Penny for your thoughts," Bobby said, and Alex shook her head, clearing away the memories that she didn't want to shadow the present.

"I was just thinking how nice it is to be here tonight with three great friends like you guys," she said. Then she added, with a playful punch to his biceps, "And how much I'm going to enjoy watching you pick up the tab after USC wins this game."


	3. Activity in the Bullpen

**Chapter 3: Activity in the Bullpen**

Alex walked into the office on the 11th floor of One Police Plaza just before 7 on Monday morning. As usual, coffee and a Danish were waiting on her desk, and Bobby sat across from her, studying a case file. He looked up, his expression brightening. "Good morning, Eames."

"Hi, Bobby. What have you got there?"

"Just reading up on the Pascarelli case. Got everything clear in your mind for your testimony today?"

"Yep. I'm ready to go. Carver says I probably won't be called until this afternoon, so I'll be stuck there all day. I just hope I don't have to go back tomorrow."

"Maybe we can have lunch together," Bobby said, his hopes hidden under a casual tone. "It'll give you a break from that dull old courthouse scene."

"That would be nice," Alex said, favoring him with a soft smile. "I'll call you when the judge recesses, and we can meet somewhere."

Bobby offered her the file. "Want to brush up before you head over there?"

"Sure," she said, settling in and taking a sip of coffee as she opened the file.

Bobby hesitated a minute, looking down at his hands, then looked up and studied her face. She felt his gaze and met his eyes. "What?"

"I was just thinking that this is the third time in a row you've had to be the one to testify on one of our cases from this summer. I wasn't much help there for a while."

Alex felt her face flush with embarrassment, for him more than for herself. They both knew what he was saying was true, and she knew he would be annoyed if she pretended it wasn't.

"Bobby, you had a lot to deal with this summer. You barely took any time off, and you contributed what you could on every case. I have no complaints," she said gently.

"We're lucky I didn't do something stupid and get one of us hurt," he mused, shaking his head. "I sure have been a lousy partner."

"Goren, don't you even think that!" she said sharply. "You had a rough time, but we got through it together. You're back to your old self now, and I don't have a moment's regret about our work this summer. We're a team. We solve crimes as a team. We fill the gaps for each other, just like always.

"Besides," she added with a grin, "while I'm in the courtroom, you're going to be stuck here all day cleaning up our paperwork."

He matched her grin. "OK, but we're still not even. I'm buying lunch."

An hour later, she was on her way to the trial, and Bobby settled in with his coffee and case files.

About 10:15, a stranger strolled in, looked around briefly and headed to Captain Ross' office. Bobby watched curiously as he and Ross shook hands and sat down. About 15 minutes later, the captain stuck his head out the door. "Kowalski, come in here."

Bobby raised his eyebrows, then straightened up and craned his neck, hoping to get a better look at the man seated in Ross' office. Kowalski's partner had retired two weeks ago. The stranger could be his replacement. Bobby looked over at Logan and Barek, a few desks away, and saw that they too were glancing Ross' way and exchanging quiet comments.

Sure enough, a few minutes later the trio came out, and Ross began introducing the newcomer to the detectives hanging around in what was affectionately known as the bullpen.

After speaking with Logan and Barek, they headed to Bobby's desk. He stood, and Ross announced, "Robert Goren, this is Don Patterson. He's joining us from homicide as Kowalski's new partner."

As Bobby put out his hand, he saw Patterson's eyes turn to ice. Bobby, his face suddenly a mask, let his hand drop; it was obvious Patterson wasn't going to shake it. Bobby knew what was coming; he'd heard it often enough.

"So you're Goren," Patterson said with a sneer. "I've heard a _lot_ about you."

An awkward silence fell, and then Ross spoke in a low but firm tone. "Don't believe everything you hear, Detective."

"Just the stuff that's in the record," Patterson said cryptically. He stared at Bobby, his disdain obvious.

Bobby's face continued to give no hint of emotion, and his deep brown eyes held steady as he met the newcomer's glare. "Welcome to Major Case," he said quietly.

"Thanks," Patterson said stiffly. "I'm sure it will be interesting working with you."

Ross broke the next silence. "You'll want to meet Goren's partner later. Alex Eames. She's testifying today, but she should be back tomorrow."

Patterson nodded at Ross, finally ending the staring contest.

Just then the phone rang, and Logan picked it up. "Captain, it's for you." Ross listened, scribbled a few notes and then hung up. "We've got a dead body outside an appellate judge's apartment," he announced. "Let's see …"

"How about if Kowalski and I take it, Captain?" Patterson asked. "I'm itching to get my feet wet."

Ross thought a minute. "OK, it's yours. We might as well see what you've got."

Patterson grinned confidently, and the three walked away, with Ross giving the new partners the few available details of the case.

Bobby frowned slightly as he watched them. He was used to being misjudged, particularly by people he hadn't met, but somehow this seemed different. It was as if Patterson held a grudge – a deep one. Bobby sighed. It was way too soon to figure out why. And besides, who cared what this guy thought? In Bobby's world, few opinions mattered. And the one that counted most – Eames' – was the one he was most certain of. She would be in his corner – always, he hoped.


	4. First Blood

**This one's a little long, but I hope it's fun.**

**Chapter 4: First Blood**

It had been a quietly frustrating day for Bobby. The anticipated lunch with Alex hadn't happened. The trial was going badly; one of Carver's witnesses had fallen apart on cross examination, and that meant Alex's testimony was even more crucial. Carver had insisted on using the lunch recess to go over a new line of questioning so that Alex could re-establish material put in doubt by the failed witness.

Bobby had tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice when Alex called to cancel, but he felt his appetite disappear right along with their lunch plans. So he simply stayed at his desk, buried in unrelenting paperwork until almost 5 o'clock.

When the trial adjourned for the day, Alex hurried back to 1PP, hoping to catch her partner before he left. As she punched the button for the elevator, Kowalski and a man she hadn't seen before entered the lobby from the garage area.

"Hey, Alex," Kowalski said with a broad smile. "Meet my new partner, Don Patterson. Donnie, this is Alex Eames."

"Nice to meet you, Detective Eames," Patterson said, his blue eyes lighting up as he grinned at her. "I heard you were in court today, so I thought that pleasure was going to be denied me until tomorrow."

Alex felt a blush creeping into her cheeks at his polite words and the thorough way he sized her up. She wasn't very tolerant of flattery, but Patterson struck just the right tone, not laying it on too thick. Of course, she wasn't interested, but there was something nice about a good-looking man making the effort to charm her.

As they entered the elevator, she decided to turn the tables. Matching his gaze with a long look of her own, she checked him out from head to toe. He was a shade over 6 feet tall, with a muscular build, probably about 190 or 195 pounds. He looked more like an athlete than a detective. He had light brown hair that was a bit longer than most cops would dare, and it framed a tanned face. Clearly he didn't spend all of his time inside the office.

Their eyes met again, and he smiled knowingly. He was used to being examined by members of the opposite sex. That thought occurred to Alex, and her cheeks colored again. She frowned; she certainly didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

"So where have you guys been?" she asked, trying to cover her embarrassment.

"We caught a case this morning," Patterson said, though Alex had directed the question at Kowalski. "A judge's daughter's scruffy boyfriend took a header off the judge's apartment building. Lots of possibilities to sort out."

"Sounds interesting," Alex said as the elevator doors opened.

She was relieved to be back in the bullpen and was comforted by the familiar sight of Bobby at his desk. He looked up just as the three of them walked in and couldn't help but be startled at the friendly grin Patterson was giving Eames. Disconcerted, he quickly looked down at the file in his hands and tried to pretend he was engrossed in it. His stomach knotted painfully.

Just as Alex reached her desk, Mike Logan sauntered over. "Hey, Bobby, how about if we hit the gym and shoot some hoops?"

"Sorry, Mike, but I'm counting on Eames to fill me in on the fireworks at the Pascarelli trial. I plan to bribe her with dinner," Bobby said, with a hopeful glance at her.

"How about both?" Alex said. "I've got to go back to finish the cross examination tomorrow, and Carver wants another prep session. I'm supposed to meet him at his office at 5:30. He promised he wouldn't keep me more than an hour, so why don't you play for a while, and then we can meet at Harvey's?"

"Well, if you two are going to Harvey's, how about if Carolyn and I join you?" Mike interjected. "She was going to do some shopping, and then we were going to have dinner."

"Sure, sounds great," Alex said with a smile. "See you guys there about 7? Last one there pays for the first round of drinks?"

"Perfect!" Mike agreed. "C'mon, Bobby, get your stuff and let's go."

The squeaks of tennis shoe rubber on hardwood, the shouts of cops greeting one another as they filtered in after a long day of work, the rhythmic thud of bouncing basketballs and the pungent odors of sweat and Icy Hot filled the gym as Bobby and Mike warmed up. Mike was shooting from 15 to 18 feet, dropping one after another cleanly through the hoop. Bobby would grab the ball and flip it back to him, content with occasionally laying one up against the glass but mostly focusing on Mike's marvelous shooting.

"That's 18 out of 20, Logan. You're a little boring," Bobby said with a grin.

"Well, maybe I should try something different," Logan said, suddenly darting toward the basket.

Instinctively, Bobby moved into his path, set his feet and dropped his hands to his sides. Mike rose into the air and laid up the shot just as he plowed into Bobby, and they both went down in a heap.

"Goren, what the hell are you doing?" Mike sputtered as he untangled himself from his buddy.

"That's charging, Mike! No basket. I had my feet planted," Bobby said proudly, wincing a little as he sat up.

"Charging? Are you out of your mind? You could get hurt doing that!" Mike said, shaking his head. "This isn't Catholic League."

"Hey, I played public school ball. But that doesn't mean I can't play the game the right way," Bobby said in an injured tone.

"That's impressive in a real game, but you need a referee to get that call. Nobody will give you that one in pickup ball."

"You will," Bobby said with a lopsided grin. "You're too honest not to call it right."

Mike laughed and swatted Bobby lightly on the side of the head. "Goren, you're too trusting for your own good."

"Hey, you guys up for a game?" a spindly 30-something who looked to be about 6-6 called from the sidelines. With him were three other men, all 30ish and about 5-9 to 6-2.

"Sure, but we're teammates," Mike said, pointing to Bobby. He had quickly sized up the group and realized that the skinny guy and Bobby were the two tallest players, and Bobby's muscular frame would give him the edge in a matchup inside.

"OK, I'll play with you two," said the 5-9 guy, a point guard named Frankie Lester who also worked at 1PP. The players introduced themselves and agreed on a half-court game to 20 points.

"How about something more interesting?" a voice from behind Bobby and Mike asked. They turned and saw Patterson striding toward them, with an unfamiliar figure in tow.

"What do you have in mind?" Mike asked warily, glancing at Bobby.

"How about full-court, four-on-four," Patterson challenged. "Thirty points wins."

"Whew, that won't be easy," the spindly guy said.

"Anybody think they aren't in good enough shape to hack it?" Patterson asked, looking around.

No one was willing to admit that, so they split into teams and got ready to play.

"We'll be skins," Patterson said, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing a washboard of abs and rippling shoulder muscles. He gave Bobby a superior grin, certain that despite the difference in height, he was the stronger physical specimen. If there's ever a fight, Patterson thought, I can pound that soft, smartass son of a bitch.

Patterson's tag-along was his old partner from homicide, Jeff Tasby, and they formed the core of the other team, along with the 6-6 Slim Barnett, a patrolman from the 2-7. Their fourth was Greg Garrity from narcotics.

Lester's wisecracking buddy Jim Mitchell was the fourth for Bobby and Mike's team. As the point guard, Lester took charge. He called them aside and laid out a strategy.

"OK, Jimbo, you and Goren work the inside. Keep moving, cutting across the lane. I'll feed you if you get open, but if it gets too crowded in there, just kick it back to Logan or me. Logan, you take every open shot you get. Your jumper is a thing of beauty."

Lester made sure each one knew who his man would be on defense, and then they headed onto the court to begin play.

For the next 20 minutes, they ran one another ragged. It was physical in the middle, with Mitchell and Goren cutting back and forth through the lane, their defenders sometimes getting lost and Lester passing to them at just the right moment for an easy layup. Lester was also smoothly feeding Logan, who kept sinking long jumpers even though Patterson, increasingly annoyed, was muscling him farther and farther away from the basket.

Patterson and Garrity were shooting pretty well, but not as well as Logan. His accuracy, and the fact that Bobby's strength and positioning assured that he would grab almost every rebound, kept Bobby and Mike's team ahead. It was 20-16 when Lester called a timeout.

"What's the matter? Scoring all those points wearing your guys out?" Garrity asked. Patterson glared at him. He detested losing, and he was particularly infuriated that Goren's abilities were a key reason his team was behind.

Lester called his foursome together. "Great work, guys. Just keep it up," he said. "Goren, they can't handle you inside."

Bobby grinned and bowed his head shyly. It had been a long time since a stranger had praised his athletic ability.

Lester looked at Mike. "Logan, if that guy Patterson pushes you any farther out, you'll be shooting from midcourt. Think you can drive on him?"

"He's quick, but I think I can take him," Mike said, nodding his head.

"Maybe we can give you a little help. Goren, do you know how to set a pick?"

Bobby's head came up. "Yeah, I did that in high school all the time."

"OK, here's what we'll do," Lester said. "When we come down the floor on offense, Goren and Jimbo set up low. I pass to Logan, who cuts diagonally toward the opposite elbow of the key. Goren comes up and sets the pick at that elbow. Logan rubs Patterson off on Goren's pick and comes free for the jumper. Jimbo, you'll be alone under the hoop because Goren will probably be too far away to help."

"I'll roll after the pick, so I might be there," Bobby said. With a grin, he added, "Besides, Mike won't miss."

Sure enough, their first offensive possession worked just the way Lester had called it. Bobby came up the lane and stopped, pulling his arms close to his chest. Mike drove toward him, and Patterson moved laterally with Mike, unaware of the obstacle ahead. Suddenly he slammed into the brick wall that was Bobby, and Mike slid free for an easy jumper, making it 22-16.

"Somebody call the pick!" Patterson said, angrily staring at his teammates. "What's the matter with you guys?"

"Sorry, man," Slim said. "He caught me off guard. I'll holler next time."

"Forget it. I know where he'll be now. I'll be ready. Let's just get those points back," Patterson fumed.

Tasby brought the ball up and passed to Patterson. He gave Mike a head fake and drove past him to the basket. Bobby moved in to help, but Patterson thrust a shoulder into Bobby's chest, knocking him back a step. Patterson laid the ball against the glass, and it was 22-18.

"Hey, man, that's a foul," Jimbo said.

"Foul? What foul?" Patterson asked innocently. "I thought this was men's ball, not women's."

"It's no problem," Bobby said, taking the ball out and flipping it in to Lester. "Let's just win this thing."

As Lester brought the ball up the floor, Bobby hustled to his position. Again, the pass went to Logan. Again, Bobby flashed to the elbow. Mike dribbled across, and Patterson followed.

Seeing the pick set up, Slim called for a switch and stepped out to meet Mike as he came around Bobby. But instead of dropping off and heading for the basket to protect against a pick and roll, Patterson kept coming hard, turning into the pick with his elbow high. He caught Bobby right under the nose, and Bobby's head snapped back. He staggered a couple of steps backward, raising his hands to his face as he felt the warm spurt of blood.

He stopped, dazed, barely aware of Patterson glaring at him a few feet away with his fists clenched, ready for a fight. Lester saw it, though, and quickly stepped between them. Fortunately he also had blocked Mike's path to Patterson, and he was carefully steering the aggressor away from his victim.

"What the hell?" Mike shouted, slamming the ball down and looking from Bobby to Patterson and back to Bobby. He was tempted to deck his new squadmate, but his concern for Bobby and the realization – unusually mature for the hotheaded Mike – that a fight would make a bad situation worse prompted him to focus on his friend instead.

"C'mon, buddy, lemme see," Mike said, stepping up and pulling Bobby's hands away from his face.

The blood was flowing freely from Bobby's nose and dripping down the front of his T-shirt. He was already a mess.

"I need a towel and some ice," Mike said, without taking his eyes off Bobby. His nose seemed straight, but there was already some swelling, and when he opened his mouth, more blood flowed out.

"I saw Stitch McKinney working with the boxers when I came in," Jimbo said. "I'll go get him."

"Don't bother him," Bobby protested. "I'll be OK."

But it was too late. Jimbo was already trotting to the area adjacent to the basketball courts where the boxing rings were set up. And before he even got there, he heard another man yell, "Hey, Stitch, they've got a bleeder on the basketball courts."

Stitch McKinney, the legendary, grizzled 70-year-old athletic trainer known for decades of magic patching up NYPD boxers during bouts, grabbed his bag and headed for the courts. Boxing, football, baseball or basketball, it didn't matter to him. All NYPD athletes were his boys, and he was ready to help.

And the big fellow standing in the middle of the clump of players clearly needed help. Stitch shouldered his way through the growing crowd and walked up to the bloodied ballplayer.

"Hi, I'm Stitch McKinney. Looks like you could use some medical attention."

"Bobby Goren," the big man said, unintentionally spitting blood as he talked. "I'm OK, Mr. McKinney. They shouldn't have bothered you."

"Just call me Stitch, and don't try to tell me my business, son," he said firmly. "Let's go over to the bleachers and sit down a minute."

He took Bobby's arm and guided him to a seat. Garrity arrived with towels and ice.

"Lean your head back, Bobby," Stitch said. He took a towel, quickly wiped some of the blood away and gently but firmly felt along Bobby's nose. Bobby gritted his teeth but kept quiet.

"Doesn't feel like it's broken," Stitch said, opening his bag, pulling out some cotton and sticking it up Bobby's nostrils.

"Hey!" Bobby protested, trying to pull away.

"Just breathe through your mouth, son. We need to get this bleeding stopped." Stitch took an ice pack, formed it carefully and laid it over Bobby's nose. "Hold this in place."

Stitch wiped more blood from under Bobby's nose and from his mouth and chin. Then he checked inside Bobby's mouth and found the cut that was adding to the stream of blood. He slid more cotton between Bobby's upper lip and teeth.

"That cut's not too bad," he said. "You can probably get away without stitches."

He fished around in his bag and pulled out a pencil flashlight. As he checked Bobby's eyes, he asked, "Were you unconscious, even for a few seconds?"

"No. Dazed, but not unconscious," Bobby said.

"Heck, he didn't even go down, much less out," Mike said.

"Really? Looks like you took a heck of a shot, judging from all this blood," Stitch told Bobby. "You're a tough kid."

Bobby grinned and then winced at the pain. Stitch pulled the cotton out of his nostrils, saw another gush of blood and replaced it with fresh cotton. After several minutes, a lot more cotton and more chilling from the ice pack, the bleeding finally stopped.

"Whew, that took awhile. You a vegetarian?" Stitch asked Bobby.

"No. Why?"

"You were bleeding more than you should have. You might have an iron deficiency. It's not common in men unless they're vegetarians or fighters dropping weight."

"He's lost some weight over the past few months," Logan pointed out.

"Well, that could explain it," Stitch said.

"Does he need to go to the hospital?"

"Not unless he wants to or he starts bleeding uncontrollably again. I think he'll be fine," Stitch said. Turning to Bobby, he added, "Get a little more red meat into that diet, son."

"OK. Thanks, Mr. McKinney. I mean Stitch," Bobby said.

As Stitch headed back to the boxers, Bobby looked around. Patterson and Tasby were on the other sidelines. Patterson eyed him, expecting some sort of confrontation, but Bobby didn't feel like causing more trouble.

Lester walked up. "I guess we'd better call the game over."

"Yeah," Mike said. "It was getting a little ugly."

"Well, I enjoyed playing with you guys. Sorry about how it finished."

"That's OK. It's not your fault Patterson's an asshole," Mike said, and Bobby nodded.

"Hey, Mike, we'd better get going," Bobby said. "I need to get cleaned up before we go to Harvey's. I don't want Eames to see me like this."

He rose, head tilted back slightly, still holding the ice pack in place, and the pair headed toward the locker room. They were a few feet short of their goal when the main door opened and Alex and Carolyn walked in.

"Uh-oh," Mike said.

"What?" Bobby asked, bringing his head down for a look. "Oh, shit."

Alex took one look at Bobby, holding the red-flecked ice pack, bloody towel over his shoulder, the front of his T-shirt soaked in blood, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, my gosh, Bobby! What happened?" she asked, eyes wide.

"It's nothing, Eames. What are you two doing here?" Bobby asked, his face going from pale to red in seconds.

"I finished early and called Carolyn, and we decided to meet you guys here," she said. "Tell me what happened."

"We were playing a game and Patterson got him with a cheap shot," Mike said.

"It's nothing," Bobby said miserably. "Just a little bloody nose."

"Does he need to see a doctor?" Carolyn asked.

"No, Stitch McKinney took care of him. He said Bobby will be fine, but he needs to eat more red meat," Mike said. "Anyone for a steak?"


	5. Fallout

**Chapter 5: Fallout**

Alex and Carolyn sat down in the bleachers to wait for Mike and Bobby to shower. Noting Alex's troubled frown, Carolyn put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. He'll be fine. Stitch McKinney is the best at what he does, and if he said Bobby doesn't need to go to the hospital, I'm sure he's right."

"It's not that," Alex said, looking puzzled. "I met Patterson this afternoon, and he seemed like a nice guy. I don't understand why he would take a cheap shot at Bobby."

Carolyn studied her for a minute and shook her head. "He might have been nice to you, but he has a real nasty attitude about your partner."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I was there when Ross made introductions this morning. He wouldn't even shake Bobby's hand. He glared at him, made some nasty, veiled remarks and then left to handle a case."

"Really?" Alex's look turned dark. "That manipulative son of a bitch. He turned on the charm when he met me, but he had to know I'm Bobby's partner. He was just playing me."

Just then Patterson walked up. "Hi, Alex! I didn't expect to see you here."

Alex looked up at him, then stood and drew herself up to her full 5 feet 2 inches. "That's Detective Eames to you, Detective Patterson."

"Hey, what's the matter? I thought we were going to be friends," he said, mustering a baffled expression.

"I'm not friends with anybody who cheap-shots my partner," she said angrily.

"Hey, I don't know who told you that, but they're wrong. It was just an accident. You know how guys are," he said in a conciliatory tone. "We get into a game, get all fired up about winning, and before you know it, somebody's got a black eye or a bloody nose. It just happens."

"So you're saying you have nothing against my partner?" she challenged, holding his eyes with her glare.

"OK," he acknowledged with a shrug. "So Goren's not my favorite person. That doesn't mean you and I have to fight." He turned on the charming smile she remembered from the elevator. "I'm sure you can learn to appreciate me if you give me half a chance. Don't tell me there isn't a little room in your life for an interesting, fun guy."

It was all Eames could do to keep from punching him in the nose. "You are one arrogant, narcissistic S.O.B., Patterson. This is the only warning you are going to get: Don't mess with me, and don't mess with my partner!"

"Narcissistic?" Patterson laughed scornfully. "Is that a word you learned from that psychotic partner of yours? Or should I say that psychotic-loving partner of yours?"

"You bastard!" Alex said, starting toward him. Carolyn quickly stepped between them. "Easy, Alex. It's not going to help if you slug this jerk, no matter how much he deserves it."

"Oh, so you're a Goren lover too?" he asked Carolyn. "Good thing he has all these women around to fight his battles for him, since he hasn't got the guts to do it himself."

Carolyn whirled around and scowled at him. "I think you've run your mouth enough for one day. Why don't you get back to your game?"

"Sure, sure," he said, forcing himself to smile. "I didn't mean to get everyone so upset." He turned his gaze to Alex. "I know you're under a lot of strain," he said in a patronizing tone. "I've heard how you've been carrying the guy because he can't handle his cases anymore. It's just natural that you'd be protective toward him."

Furious, Alex tried again to push her way past Carolyn, but Carolyn grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed back as hard as she could. "Enough! Patterson, get out of here, or I'll get out of Alex's way, and I guarantee when she's through with you, you will look way worse than Bobby did."

Patterson laughed scornfully, but he backed away, holding up his hands. "OK, OK. I'm going. I guess you two need to cool off. But you're wasting your time worrying about Goren. He's a loser, and he's going to self-destruct. I'd hate to see him take you down with him."

Patterson turned and stalked off, leaving Alex seething and Carolyn not much better.

"Let's wait for the guys outside," Carolyn suggested. "I think we both could use some fresh air."

They had managed to regain their calm by the time Mike and Bobby emerged from the gym. The foursome hiked back to the 1PP garage, and the women said nothing of their encounter with Patterson. Everyone piled into the SUV, with Alex taking the wheel.

Bobby – who hadn't said a word since he left the locker room – sat in the front passenger seat, chin resting on his hand, staring out the window.

Alex glanced over worriedly, but Bobby seemed not to notice. "You sure you're OK?" she asked, lightly touching his left hand as it rested on the console between them. Bobby nodded but didn't turn to look at her. "He's fine," Mike interjected from the seat behind her. "It's not a big deal. How about we hit O'Shea's? I really could use that steak."

"Sounds great to me," Carolyn seconded. "Some steaks, some wine, a little light music. It'll be fun!"

Realizing that Mike and Carolyn were trying to change a sore subject, Alex flashed them a smile in the rearview mirror. "OK, you guys win. O'Shea's it is." She knew it was best not to push Bobby if he didn't want to talk. But she was troubled to see him lapsing into one of his silences again. All summer those silences had been symptoms of his depression. She hated the thought that Patterson might have caused him to take a step backward when he had been doing so well.

Bobby sat quietly throughout the drive, letting the sights of Midtown pass by unnoticed. He knew he should join in the conversation, but he just didn't feel like it. His stomach was all knotted up again. He couldn't imagine anything worse than letting that smirking bastard Patterson get the better of him and having Eames see the bloody evidence. He felt embarrassed and miserable, and he wished he could just curl up and disappear. There were times when it was damned inconvenient to be 6 feet 4. Right now he wished he were about 4 inches tall and could hide under the seat.

Clearly Patterson was interested in his partner. He remembered the look on the new detective's face as he and Eames had walked into the squad room that afternoon. If Patterson followed up, and Bobby was sure he would, could he succeed in winning Alex's affections? And would it drive a wedge between him and Alex? Bobby felt stupid and slow and inadequate, comparing himself with the handsome and charming and athletic Patterson.

Secretly, Bobby wished that he and Alex could be more than partners, more even than the close friends they were. But he wasn't about to risk losing her by overstepping any boundaries. Still, as he had started to find himself this fall, started to let himself think there could be some happiness in his life, he had begun to ponder how to edge toward those mysterious boundaries and see if she responded. He knew Alex hadn't dated for a while, and he had dared to hope that there was a chance she might be interested in exploring a deeper relationship with him. He had thought he had plenty of time to figure it out; he hadn't expected to find someone else trying to push his way in – someone good-looking, strong and successful enough to have joined them at Major Case. … And someone who had just bloodied his nose. Bobby sighed. Some catch he was. He couldn't even defend himself against a guy shorter and lighter than he was. How was that supposed to impress Eames?

Bobby's painful musings were interrupted by their arrival at O'Shea's. It was still early, and they were quickly shown to a booth. Alex slid in, and Bobby settled next to her. Mike, who had been trying to think of a way to rescue Bobby from his deepening case of the blues, decided it was time to shake things up. "That was a helluva game we played," he announced as he slid into the seat next to Carolyn. "I need a victory kiss." With that, he caressed Carolyn's cheek and tilted her chin toward him. Their lips met, and they kissed deeply before breaking apart. Mike turned to a startled Bobby and Alex – who had sensed that their friends were a couple but had never seen a public display of serious affection from them – and said with a grin, "Now, that's my kind of reward for winning!"

Alex managed a quick response. "Hey, if you two want some privacy …" she said with a smile.

"No way," Mike said firmly. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather double date with than you two."

Bobby blushed at the implication and glanced at Alex. She looked up at him with a shy smile. He smiled back at her a little uncertainly. Well, he thought, at least she didn't gag at the idea.

Mike grinned at Bobby and then looked at Alex. "You should have seen this big lug on the basketball court. He was a monster around the basket."

"Really?" Alex asked, giving Bobby a bright smile. "So you were the hero?"

Bobby looked confused. He'd been so focused on getting his nose bloodied, he had forgotten how well the game had been going to that point. "I, uh, I scored a few points. Mike scored most of them, though."

"Yeah, I did my share," Mike agreed with a big grin. Leaning in conspiratorially, he added, "Actually the two of us are a helluva team. I shoot the jumpers and he hits the layups – and gets every rebound on defense."

"Well, not _every_ rebound," Bobby said modestly.

"Oh, really? Stop and count 'em, buddy. You got every ball they shot that didn't go into the hoop this afternoon."

Bobby's forehead creased as he thought about Mike's statement for a minute. "No, Jimbo got one when my guy shot from the corner."

"OK, one rebound!" Mike said, laughing. "One defensive rebound to somebody else. Bobby, you were damned impressive in the paint – and on that pick that made Patterson lose it. You had him so frustrated that a cheap shot was the only thing he could think of to get back at you."

"So he's nothing but a sore loser, huh?" Alex said with a scornful tone for Patterson and a look of pride for Bobby that magically untied the knot in his stomach.

As he basked in her smile, Bobby suddenly felt warm inside. Maybe that steak would taste good after all, he thought.


	6. Talking Man to Man

**Chapter 6: Talking Man to Man**

The next morning started quietly in the bullpen, and Bobby was grateful for that. The blow to his face had left the area around his nose and mouth reddish purple and swollen. His sinuses felt swollen too, and that pressure plus the aftereffects of a glass or two more of wine than he should have had left him with a dull ache in his head. But inside, he felt pretty good. An evening with Mike, Carolyn and Alex – with Mike and Carolyn's surprisingly open affection bringing out more playfulness in Alex and him – was better medicine than he could have gotten from any doctor, and if a little headache was the result, he could live with that.

Bobby did have some concerns about his next meeting with Patterson, but the newcomer and his partner were out working on their case. Bobby's relief about that reprieve ebbed a bit, though, when Ross strolled in just after 10 and came directly to his desk. Giving Bobby a quick look to assess the damage, Ross ordered him into his office. Alex, who had finished her trial testimony early and returned to the bullpen, stood up to go with them, but Ross held up his hand. "Just Goren this time," he said firmly.

Bobby felt uneasy as Ross closed the door behind him and motioned to a chair. Ross settled into his own chair, put his elbows on his desk and his chin in his hands, and studied Bobby's bruised face more thoroughly.

"I guess you heard about what happened," Bobby said, keeping his voice calm and low. He didn't like being in the middle of an unpleasant situation, and he figured the best thing to do was to try to keep his emotions in check and get through this as quickly as possible.

"Yeah," Ross said. "The grapevine is pretty efficient on things like this."

Bobby frowned. "I didn't do anything to instigate this."

"I know," Ross said simply.

Bobby looked surprised but kept quiet. He wasn't used to Ross giving him a break when trouble was brewing, but then again, Bobby hadn't gotten into any trouble since his mom died. Depression, yes. But the misbehavior – and downright insubordination – Ross had seen from him before that, no. The past few months Ross had kept watch from a distance, making sure not to antagonize his emotionally battered detective. Bobby was grateful for the truce and not eager to disturb it.

"Goren …" Ross started, then paused, wanting to be careful how he worded this. "It's really important that people get along around here. Partners have to get along most of all, but Major Case, as a group, has to get along."

"Yes, sir. I'm trying …"

"I know you are. Please, let me lay this out," Ross said, deliberately speaking softly, hoping Bobby would realize that he wasn't trying to provoke an outburst.

Bobby closed his mouth and waited.

Ross smiled briefly, wondering if Bobby could have done that with him six months ago. "The fact is, Patterson is the new guy. And I've seen enough and heard enough to know that he's taking every opportunity to make it clear that he detests you."

"I can take it, Captain."

"I think you've done a good job of taking it, Detective, but sooner or later he's going to say or do something that's going to set you off, and when that happens, it could be really ugly."

Bobby bowed his head. He knew it was possible. He was willing to admit to himself that he had weak spots. As Patterson learned more about him, the chances of him finding one would grow. "I don't want that, Captain. I really don't want any trouble."

"Well, if there is, he's going right back where he came from: Brooklyn homicide," Ross said firmly.

"You'd get rid of him just like that?" Bobby asked, surprised. He thought of all the times he had caused Ross trouble, and the captain had found a way to get through it – often with an assist from Eames – without anything as drastic as a demotion or a transfer.

"If somebody has to go, it'll be him. You might have had your differences with some of your fellow officers in the past, but I've seen enough to know that you don't go looking for trouble. Your problems getting along with partners magically disappeared six years ago" – he flashed a quick smile, and Bobby returned it, thinking of Eames – and you've worked smoothly with Logan, Barek and all the other people at Major Case for quite some time. You've even done well when we've shared cases with SVU. All those things, plus you and Eames having the best solve rate in the department, are in your favor."

"But he has to have some things in his favor, or he'd never have been brought in here," Bobby observed.

"Yes, he does. He's a damn good cop. Tough, hard-nosed, but perceptive. He had the best solve rate of any homicide detective in the five boroughs, and I felt he deserved a shot here at Major Case. I just didn't know he would come in here and pick a fight with one of my best detectives."

Again, Bobby was startled at the compliment, and his face showed it. Ross gave him a sardonic smile. "Even an unrepentant alpha male like me can recognize another talented alpha male, Goren. If we give each other a little room, I think we can get along just fine."

"Maybe so, Captain," Bobby said, a note of hope in his voice. But he couldn't resist a little needling joke. "So Eames doesn't need to keep an eye on me anymore?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Ross said with a warm laugh. "I expect her to keep a close eye on you at all times. And to keep us from annoying each other when one of us is in a bad mood."

Bobby laughed out loud at that. "She's a good referee," he agreed.

"Anyway, I'm going to have a talk with Patterson and see if I can find out why he's targeted you and make sure he understands what he's risking if he continues this vendetta."

Bobby looked uncertain. "I really don't want to make trouble for him, Captain."

"You're not. He is. And it's time he knows he's not going to get away with it."

Bobby nodded but said nothing. He understood the wisdom of Ross' words, but he felt bad about being a part of the problem.

"I just wanted to make sure you understood my feelings on this," Ross said. "And I'd appreciate it if you kept this between you, me and Eames."

"Eames?"

"Of course, Detective. I wanted to talk with you man to man, but I know you can't keep secrets from your partner. Just make sure she understands it stops with us."

"Yes, sir." Bobby rose and left the office, still trying to get his mind around the vote of confidence from the captain he'd fought with for so many months before his mother's death. Relief washed over him, and he had a smile on his face when he returned to the pair of desks he shared with Eames.


	7. An Invitation for One

**Two chapters in one night? I don't know what's gotten into me. Hope you enjoy them, and thanks to all of you kind folks who have reviewed.**

**Chapter 7: An Invitation for One**

Bobby had quieted Eames' curiosity about his talk with Ross with a cryptic "Later" and a look in his eyes that promised her the full story. And he lived up to it when they went for sandwiches at lunch. She was impressed at Ross' support for Bobby, and they returned to the bullpen in an upbeat mood.

They were surprised to discover Frankie Lester there, talking with Logan and Barek. Bobby and Alex sauntered over to see what was up, and as they rounded a pillar, they realized with dismay that Patterson was hovering nearby, listening in.

"Hey, Goren," Lester said. "You don't look too bad, considering."

"Hi, Frankie. Thanks," Bobby replied. "This is my partner, Alex Eames. Eames, this is Frankie Lester, our point guard in the basketball game yesterday."

"Nice to meet you. I hear your team was kicking ass yesterday," Alex said, shaking Lester's hand and smiling. She deliberately ignored Patterson, who had moved a few steps closer to her, much to Bobby's chagrin.

"Yeah, we were a pretty good combination," Lester said.

"So what brings you up here to the 11th floor?" Bobby asked.

"Uh, actually, I was here on a little recruiting mission," Lester said, with just a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "The 1PP team desperately needs a shooting guard, and Mike has the prettiest jump shot I've seen in a while."

"But I was explaining to him that you and I have a lot of fun pounding on each other in our one-on-one games, and I don't want give them up," Mike told Bobby.

"Is it an either/or? Couldn't you do both?" Alex asked.

"Even though it's just recreational ball, we take it pretty seriously," Lester explained. "We practice two or three times a week in addition to our games."

"How do you get any police work done, with a schedule like that?" Alex asked.

"It's not easy," Lester said with a laugh, "but that's one of the reasons for all the practices. If a guy misses one, he still has opportunities to work out with the team. Our coach has us running several offenses and defenses, and we have to practice so we can work as a unit."

"Who's the coach?" Bobby asked.

"Chip Hunter."

"Assistant director of NYPD athletics," Bobby mused, impressed.

"Yep, and a huge basketball fan. Loves the game, knows it inside and out," Lester said proudly. "He's sharp enough to have us in the running for the NYPD high league championship. Deep down, I think he thinks he's Coach K."

"Who?" Alex asked with a puzzled look.

"Mike Krzyzewski," Bobby told her. "He coaches Duke and the U.S. Olympic team. He's probably the best college basketball coach in the country. Really smart, classy guy. His teams play very disciplined defense, and they play hard every minute."

"Exactly," Lester said, smiling at Bobby's thorough analysis. "Coach Hunter is just about as demanding too."

"Well, it sounds as if he picked a good role model," Alex observed.

"But no matter how good the coaching, you've got to have some talent, and the one thing we're lacking is a big-time shooter," Lester said. "That's where Mike comes in. He'd fit right in at the 2 guard spot."

"Heck, I don't even know if I could play high league ball," Mike said. "I'm not in my 20s anymore."

"Not many of us at the rec level are," Lester said. "The young guys who can really play are all on the elite teams, playing regional ball against other police departments on the benefit circuit. That means us slightly older guys who can still play the game are free to knock heads in high league rec ball. It gets pretty spirited, and there's a lot of unit pride. And this is the first time the 1PP team has had a chance at the championship."

"You guys have no chance," Patterson butted in, smirking.

"Oh, and why is that?" Lester asked, annoyed.

"Because Brooklyn's Finest is bigger, faster and more talented," Patterson said proudly. "And since I'm still eligible to play for them, they have the best shooting guard in the league."

"And how are you eligible since you're at 1PP now?" Alex asked.

"I started the season there, so I get to stay on their roster," he said. Then he gave her a smug grin. "I know that's a huge disappointment to you, since you would have wanted to come out and cheer me on if I were on the 1PP team."

"Don't flatter yourself," Alex said, her boiling blood coloring her cheeks. "I have no interest in watching you do anything. Not now, not ever!"

"Easy, Eames," Bobby said, pleased at her rejection of Patterson but fearing that a nasty incident could be brewing. The half-dozen other detectives in the bullpen had heard the harsh tones and discarded their paperwork to listen.

"Well, it's a nice offer, but I have a prior commitment with Bobby," Logan said. "Unless you've got a spot for him too."

"Sorry, but we're full up on big guys," Lester said in an apologetic tone.

"It's OK," Bobby said, being careful to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "I think you should do it, Mike."

"Gee, Bobby, I don't know. We've been having a lot of fun. I hate to mess it up," Mike said uncertainly.

"Really, it's OK. We can get back to our games when the rec league season is over. It sounds like you could really make a difference. It would be great if 1PP could win a championship. We're always lousy in athletics."

"That's because all the brains are concentrated here," Carolyn said with a smile. "Not enough of the brawn."

"Hey, we've got some brawn too, like this guy right here," Mike said, pointing at Bobby. He gave Lester a sharp look. "I can't believe you have a better 4 player than him."

"Foreplayer?" Patterson interjected, smirking again. "I thought only Detective Eames would know how good a foreplayer Goren is."

The crude remark made jaws around the bullpen drop in shock. Alex whirled on him furiously, but for once, Bobby was quicker – and even angrier. Two long strides and he grabbed Patterson by the lapels, lifted him and pinned him against the wall.

"You son of a bitch, you need to learn some manners," Bobby shouted, his face inches from Patterson's, his look scarier than anything Alex had ever seen from him in an interrogation. Bobby's left forearm was pressed dangerously hard against Patterson's neck, and his chest and right arm kept the smaller detective against the wall, his feet a few inches off the floor.

Ross, who had come out of his office and lingered on the edge of the group, moved in quickly and stopped a few feet to Bobby's left. Terrified at how close Bobby was to doing something he would regret forever, he resisted the temptation to snap an order at his enraged detective.

"Easy there, Goren," he said softly but firmly. "I think he knows he was out of line. How about letting go of him now?"

"First he's going to apologize to my partner, Captain. He can insult me all he wants, but I won't let him say stuff like that to Eames," Bobby said.

The room was electric with tension, all eyes fixed on Bobby, but Ross sensed that he was trying to gain control of his temper.

Recognizing the danger, Eames had moved to Bobby's right. "Please, Bobby, he's not worth it. Let him go."

"Apologize. Now!" Bobby told Patterson. The detective's mouth opened, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. Bobby realized he'd better ease off or he was going to crush Patterson's larynx. He pulled his forearm away but kept the man pinned to the wall. "Apologize!" he repeated.

"Bobby, it's OK," Alex said fearfully.

"No, it's not."

"S-Sorry, D-Detective Eames," Patterson managed to get out.

Bobby relaxed his grip and let Patterson go. Their eyes met; Bobby's smoldered with anger, but Patterson's held burning hatred.

"Captain Ross, this detective assaulted me!" Patterson sputtered, his voice hoarse.

"Like you assaulted him yesterday?" Ross asked pointedly. "Seems to me that any charge you make is going to be met with a countercharge, and since you made the first move, I'd be very careful, if I were you."

Patterson looked at Ross and then at Bobby, and though he was seething, he kept his mouth shut.

"Now that we've got that settled, it's time you and I had a little talk," Ross said. "In my office. Now."

As the two marched off, the detectives watching the incident averted their eyes and pretended to get back to work. Lester sighed and shook his head. "Sorry, folks. I didn't mean to set up another fight."

"It's OK. Not your fault," Mike said. He kept his eyes on Bobby, who had slumped a little as his fury drained and was leaning, head down, with both hands on Mike's desk. Alex had a hand on his back and was quietly, soothingly talking to him.

"So, you'll play for us?" Lester pressed, not about to let all this effort be in vain.

"Yeah, I guess so," Mike said, knowing deep down that he wanted to play but feeling bad about how it might affect Bobby. He determined to figure out a way to keep their friendship strong.

"Great. Practice is tonight at 6 at the gym," Lester said. "Uh, see you there."

Lester slipped quietly out of the bullpen, and when he got to the elevator, he shook his head ruefully. Yes, Goren could help the team, but the incident he had just witnessed – provocation notwithstanding – made him even more certain that he and Coach Hunter had made the right decision not to invite Goren to play.

The big detective's odd reputation preceded him in everything, and neither Lester nor Hunter had wanted to take a chance on asking a possible head case to join the team. A smooth-operating team needed to get along. And they just didn't see a reason to have a loose cannon like Goren around.


	8. Sorting It Out

**Chapter 8: Sorting It Out**

It was unnaturally quiet in the bullpen. Eames could sense her colleagues furtively watching Bobby. As her pounding heartbeat slowed and steadied, all she could think of was getting him away from all the attention. Physical confrontations between cops were not unheard of, but this one had come within a hair of disaster.

Keeping a hand on Bobby's back and lightly grasping his arm, Eames leaned in close. "C'mon, let's take a break," she said. He slowly straightened, looking a little lost, and let her lead him to one of the interrogation rooms off the bullpen.

He sat down in one of the chairs, put his elbows on the table and rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes downcast. Eames leaned against the table, facing the opposite way, her hip inches from his elbow.

After a few moments of silence, he looked up at her. "I guess I got a little carried away there," he said quietly. "I-I know you don't like me to fight your battles. It-it's just that he impugned your honor, and it seems like a lady's honor should be defended by a gentleman. Y-you shouldn't have to speak up for yourself in a situation like that."

He paused, his deep brown eyes looking up at her as sorrowfully as a scolded puppy, and he added, "But I apologize if I offended you."

"It's OK, Bobby," Eames said, with a smile that reached her eyes. She never could resist his puppy dog look, and she knew his emotions were genuine. "It's kind of nice to have a knight in shining armor rescue me once in a while … as long as you don't make a habit of it."

That made Bobby laugh, and he looked at her tentatively. "I'm glad you don't want to watch Patterson play basketball."

"Well, I have to confess, I don't really know all that much about the game anyway," Eames said. "My brothers and I played football and baseball growing up, but we were all too short to get very far in basketball. I don't think I'd be interested in watching unless you were playing."

"Really?" he asked, his eyes lighting up. "What about if you went with me and we watched Mike and the 1PP team sometime?"

"That would be OK, as long as you explain the finer points to me," she said.

"I could do that."

"Well, there is one thing I want to know right now," she said, glancing at the door as if she were afraid someone would walk in on them. She gave him a conspiratorial look and asked in almost a whisper, "What did Mike mean about you being a foreplayer?"

"Oh, that," Bobby said with a little laugh and a shake of his head. "It's just a standard numbering system for the five guys on the court. The point guard is the 1 player. The shooting guard is the 2 guard; that's what Mike is. The small forward is the 3, and the power forward is the 4 player. The center is the 5."

"So you're a power forward," she said.

"Yeah," he said, smiling shyly.

"And Mike thinks you're really good and should be on the team."

"Well, he's my friend. Of course, he wants to stand up for me. But I'm really nothing special. Mike is good; he played college ball. I just played junior varsity ball in high school." Bobby shrugged. "It's no big deal."

Somehow Eames had a feeling it _was_ a big deal. She sensed that he felt left out. But she knew better than to push it right now. Still, if she could figure out some way to ease his hurt feelings …

locilocilociloci

In Ross' office, Patterson shook with fury – and a little bit of leftover fear – as the door closed behind him. His throat was on fire from the chokehold Goren had put on him. His hand trembled as he touched his neck, and he could already feel the soreness that would grow as the deep bruising set in.

Patterson was shocked that Goren had moved so quickly and powerfully to disable him. He had reveled in his superior physical condition, and he had assumed that the big detective was soft and slow and would be no match for him. He wasn't used to sizing someone up and being so completely wrong about the person's capabilities. His mistake – and the danger it had placed him in – had left him weak-kneed and a little queasy.

"Sit down," Ross ordered sharply, and a subdued Patterson obeyed.

Ross moved to the front of his desk and perched on it, directly in front of his detective. The captain folded his arms and exhaled deeply, trying to keep his thoughts from jumbling in frustration. He needed to handle this carefully. As a leader, he couldn't have his people feuding. But he knew it would also look bad if he had to boot Patterson out of the squad. The decision to bring him into Major Case had been primarily Ross', and he didn't want to be wrong for all of NYPD to see. If there was a way to salvage the situation, he needed to think clearly now.

He decided to use a relatively new tool in his arsenal, one that he had been honing very effectively as he dealt with Goren, one he had eschewed for most of his climb up the departmental ladder: He spoke softly.

"Detective, I will not tolerate that kind of behavior in my squad."

"Why are you telling me that?" Patterson asked incredulously. "I'm not the one who just choked a fellow detective."

Ross sighed. "You know and I know that you have been goading Goren from the moment you met him. It's a wonder he hasn't lost it before this. And what you said about Eames – that was just totally unacceptable. She is a highly respected member of this squad, and if Goren hadn't grabbed you, any number of other people probably would have, including me."

Patterson bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Captain. I really didn't mean to insult her. I was trying to get at Goren, and it just came out."

"So you admit you were baiting him."

Patterson shrugged his shoulders and kept his head down. "He deserves every bit of pain I can cause him."

Ross looked at him sharply. "How can you say that about a fellow detective?"

"Because he's not one of us. He's a perp lover. A psychotic lover. He tries to understand them and get them every break he can. I'm a good cop, and I can't tolerate someone wearing a badge and fighting for the bad guys. No good cop should."

Ross rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Detective, I know you believe that right now, but if you give him a chance, he'll prove to you that that's not true. He's put people behind bars that I thought we had no chance to convict. He's gotten perps to confess when the only thing we had on them was his gut feeling that they did the crime. He understands them better than any detective I've ever met, but he certainly doesn't love them."

Patterson just shook his head and kept silent.

"To be honest, Patterson, I didn't have a very high opinion of Goren when I came to Major Case. I had heard all the rumors too, and I let them affect my judgment. We had some very rough sailing for quite a few months largely because I was too stubborn to admit to myself that I was wrong about him. I don't want you to make that same mistake … especially because it's a mistake that could jeopardize your career."

Patterson looked startled. "What are you talking about?"

"Every member of my squad has to get along. You don't all have to go drinking together, but you have to have a good professional relationship. Goren is established here. You're the newcomer. If you can't work with him – or anyone else in Major Case – you'll have to go. And it's not going to look very good on your record if you get kicked back to Brooklyn homicide within a week of arriving at 1PP."

Patterson was steaming. "That's not fair. I clear cases, and they get the needle or they do very long hard time. I do it the right way. He's the one who should be booted."

"I'll remind you again: He was here first. He's proved himself. You're the one on the hot seat."

"He's proved himself, all right," Patterson said angrily.

"What is _with_ you? You sound like you have a personal vendetta against him!"

Patterson took a deep breath, met Ross' eyes and said darkly, "I guess maybe I do."

"You want to explain yourself, or should I just give you a transfer back to Brooklyn right now?" Ross asked, his jaw clenched.

Patterson was quiet for a long moment. Finally, softly, he said, "Claire Massey is my niece."

Ross looked baffled. "Who?"

"Claire Massey. Don't you remember the Tagman case?"

"It was before I became captain of this squad, but I am somewhat familiar with it."

"Then you know John Tagman killed a woman and almost killed Claire. He drilled a hole in her skull and poured water in it. He left her brain damaged for life. He was about as sick a perp as you can find. And Goren made sure he didn't get the death penalty."

Ross hesitated. This was obviously deeply personal, and he knew enough details of the case to know that Patterson had summed it up correctly. Stalling as he tried to think of the right approach, he said, "I thought you didn't know Goren before yesterday."

"I had never met him. I was vacationing in Hawaii when Claire was attacked. By the time I got back, Tagman was all cozy with a nice plea bargain. The inside word was that the D.A. couldn't seek the death penalty because Goren pushed Tagman in the interrogation beyond a simple confession and got him to express remorse and say he didn't mean to kill anyone."

Ross was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He knew Patterson was right about what happened, and he wasn't particularly happy with what Goren had done either. Still, "that's the way the law is written, Detective. If the intent is lacking, you can't give someone the death penalty."

"He deserved it! What he did to Claire was inhuman. She might as well be dead. If Goren was going to have compassion for someone, it should have been her!"

"You might not believe this, Detective, but I am certain he did. He has more than enough compassion for everyone he comes across in a case, and especially for the victims."

Patterson stared at him and frowned. "So you're saying you think he did the right thing?"

"I'm saying he's a very complicated guy, and I am certain he thinks he did the right thing."

"That's not good enough for me. Not when I have to look my sister in the eye and see her condemnation of NYPD for how Tagman was treated."

"Detective, you do know that Tagman is dead, right?"

"No thanks to Goren. The inmates who killed that sick bastard had a better sense of right and wrong than he does. I can't stomach him."

"Then why did you accept this job?"

"Because I deserve to be here more than he does. He's not the kind of cop who belongs at the highest rungs. I know I can do a better job than him."

Ross heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. "Patterson, I do sympathize with you. But there's way more to Goren than you're giving him credit for. I don't want to send you back to Brooklyn. But if you want to stay here, you are either going to have to learn to get along with him or figure out how to keep your distance from him. And that means keeping your distance from his partner too. She is not to be your back door to get at him. Do I make myself clear?'

"Yes, sir."

"OK, then. Go get some police work done. Prove to me that you belong here."


	9. A Price to Pay

**Judging from the reviews and messages I got, the Tagman case hit a lot of people hard. I don't know if this will help, but I had to try.**

**Chapter 9: A Price to Pay**

When Bobby and Alex returned to the bullpen, Patterson and his partner were gone. They had wisely chosen the calm of their murder investigation over another run-in with the raging bull known as Bobby. The other detectives looked up briefly but said nothing as the two partners settled in at their desks. Everyone quietly resumed doing paperwork, as if no one had been nearly strangled in their presence.

Ross stayed in his office, unwilling to add to Bobby's misery by calling him in and thus letting others think he might be getting chewed out. He had seen enough in Goren's posture to know the big detective was shaken by what he had done, and Ross felt that was punishment enough, barring further incidents. Still, he did need to let Bobby know what was at the root of Patterson's behavior.

A few minutes after 5, Ross strolled out of his office for the day. Taking a route to the elevators past Goren and Eames' desks, he paused, leaned over and rested his hands on the edge of Goren's desk. Meeting the detective's eyes, Ross said quietly, "Patterson is Claire Massey's uncle."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up, and his jaw went slack. He glanced at Alex, and she saw a flash of pain in his dark eyes. He looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, and then met Ross' gaze. "OK," he said softly. "I'll steer clear of him as much as possible."

Ross nodded and walked away.

Alex studied Bobby, keeping her face expressionless. She didn't want her feelings about the Tagman case to come between them. But despite her anger at Patterson, she had to admit she felt a twinge of sympathy. No one who had seen Claire Massey after Tagman finished with her could blame her relatives for hating anyone who helped him.

Alex had to admit to herself that Bobby's behavior in that case had been a stumbling block for her in their relationship. In her mind, she understood the logic of his position, but her heart was too caught up in the tragedy of Tagman's victims to have any sympathy left over for their tormentor. She had been careful not to call Bobby too harshly on what he did because she sensed that something about Tagman had struck him deeply. But she had kept a bit of emotional distance from him for a while after that. If he was on Tagman's wavelength, she wasn't about to join him there.

Tagman hadn't lasted long in prison, and frankly, she had felt relieved when she heard he was dead. She and Bobby were soon back to normal, and nothing more had been said about the case until today. But looking at Bobby's troubled face and assessing her own jumpy stomach, she realized that the wounds were reopening.

Suddenly, Bobby closed the folder in front of him, put it in a drawer and stood up. "I'm going to call it a day. See you tomorrow, Eames," he said quietly.

Startled, she replied, "Hey, this is awfully early for you. Got some big plans?"

He sighed. "No, I just think I need to take a long walk."

"I could use a good walk too. Mind if I go along?"

"I might not be very good company," he said in a tone that sounded matter-of-fact rather than annoyed. "I'm not sure I feel like talking much."

"That's OK," she replied, giving him a little smile. "We don't have to say anything. We can just walk."

He nodded, and they headed to the elevators.

As they rode in silence to the first floor, Alex felt a mixture of joy and apprehension. So many times Bobby had shut her out completely, even run from her, when he was struggling with powerful emotions, but this time at least he was allowing her to run with him. I guess that's progress, she thought, smiling sardonically.

They headed up Park Row and turned onto Avenue of the Finest, strolling toward the East River in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge. He kept his pace just slow enough for her short strides to comfortably keep up with his long ones. Years of walking together made keeping in step as natural to them as breathing.

Turning south along the river bank, they continued walking silently for about 10 minutes. Finally Bobby paused at a bench. "Want to sit down for a few minutes?"

"Sure," she said, easing herself onto the wooden planks beside him. Elbows almost touching, they gazed out across the river and breathed in the cool, late afternoon air.

Alex was content just to sit with him, not even sure she wanted to talk about the subject that lurked in the background. But part of Bobby's healing process had been learning to talk out what was bothering him, and he bravely decided to tackle this problem too. Taking a deep breath, he turned and looked at Alex. "What I did to help Tagman – it troubled you."

She gave him a sideways glance and a slight nod. "Part of me – my head – understood it, the legal issue. My heart cried out against it."

He nodded slowly. "I don't expect you to agree with me for doing it. I don't expect anyone to. I know what I did was hard for good people to swallow, and I expect to pay a price for that."

"Bobby, I respect you for following your principles even when you know you stand alone. But I guess … what I don't understand is how you were able to shut out the horrible things he did and stick with the letter of the law. I just couldn't separate my revulsion from my duty. Deep down, my sense of right and wrong told me he deserved to die, no matter what the law said."

"Th-that makes sense. I-I guess that's how normal people would feel about it."

"Bobby, _you_ are normal. I won't have you saying you're not."

He sighed. "I guess maybe I'm getting more normal. But there are still things I feel that make me different from most people. Even I think it's weird that I could separate my feelings about Tagman from my feelings about what he did."

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck and paused, trying to find the words to explain the inexplicable. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'Hate the sin; love the sinner'?"

"Yes, I have. But I've never heard, 'Love the murderous cannibal.'"

Bobby winced. "I was revolted too. When we found the evidence of his cannibalism, I almost threw up. But when I closed my eyes, I just kept seeing the loneliest man I had ever met. Way lonelier than I've ever been, lonelier than I could even fully comprehend. It felt like the pain was so deep it had a grip on his soul. And I could see all that in his eyes."

"But he still did unimaginably evil things."

"Yes, he did. But it was a sickness deep inside him. He was horrified by it too. Revolted by his own actions. And yet he couldn't keep himself from doing what he did … any more than my mom could keep herself from having delusions and striking out at me."

Suddenly Bobby got very quiet, staring at the ground a few feet in front of him. Impulsively, Alex reached out and touched his cheek, gently tugging his head up and around to face her. She ran her fingers through the soft stubble, caressing his cheek. He lifted haunted eyes to gaze at her.

"That's how you did it," she mused. "Years of practice. You loved your mom so much despite all the abuse she heaped on you. You had to learn to separate who she was from what she did to you, or you could not have loved her and taken care of her all those years."

His eyes widened in surprise at how quickly she had grasped what he felt he was stumbling to say. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "That's basically it. Some people have impulses so deep and strong that they are controlled by them and do horrible things, like damaging the people they love. They can't help themselves. As much as I hate what they do, I can't hate them. I want to have hope for them. I wanted to have hope for my mom, that someday she would overcome her demons and stop abusing me and love me fully."

He paused again. Looking her right in the eyes, he declared, "I didn't have hope that Tagman would get better. If there had been even a minute chance that he could have gotten paroled someday, I would have made sure his confession stopped short and he got the death penalty. To do anything else would have been to ensure that more victims got his death penalty, and I would not have let that happen. But if the rest of the population was safe from him forever anyway, I couldn't just agree to kill him."

She looked deep in his eyes and was touched by the honesty and the searing emotions she saw there.

He had one more thing to add. "Even though he was my biological father, I didn't feel the same way about Brady. He knew what he was doing, and he enjoyed it – being in control, inflicting pain, taking women's lives. I'm glad he's dead. I never would have given him a break. Tagman had remorse. Brady would have laughed in his victims' faces."

Alex nodded, and they both fell silent for several pensive moments. Finally Alex looked at him again and asked, "So what are you going to do about Patterson?"

"Nothing," Bobby replied. "I'm just going to keep my distance. No explanation from me can ever make this right for him. And I can't blame him for feeling that way. If someone I loved was hurt like that … well, you saw how I reacted when he insulted you, and that was just words."

Suddenly a deep blush shot up from Bobby's collar into his cheeks as he realized what he had just admitted. He glanced at her, terrified but knowing that he had to see her reaction. She was looking at him with a slight smile on her face. Did she understand what he had said? What would she do? He tried to think of a way to divert attention from the remark and hide his embarrassment, but his brain failed him miserably.

And then Alex reached out and gently covered the hand that was resting on his thigh next to her. Tentatively, with a schoolboy's shyness, he turned his palm up. She interlaced her fingers with his and smiled at him again. Then she laid her head against his shoulder and they both resumed gazing out over the water. After a few minutes, Bobby's heart stopped pounding, and he sighed contentedly. And for the first time in years … decades … he felt real hope for himself in his heart.


	10. On the Sidelines

**Hi, gang. Sorry it's taken me so long to update. Family concerns and procrastination are a dangerous combination. I promise to try to do better.**

**Chapter 10: On the Sidelines**

The tiny gym pulsated with heat and life as the players raced up and down the court. The stands were about three-quarters full, and every basket brought a burst of cheers. The clock was ticking off the seconds to halftime, and 1PP was up by two points over Manhattan SVU/Homicide. Lester took the inbounds pass and pushed the ball upcourt, firing a pass to Logan on the left wing, just outside the three-point line. Mike dribbled once and launched his jump shot. It dropped smoothly through the hoop as the buzzer sounded, and 1PP was up 33-28 at the half.

"Whew, that was exciting," Carolyn exulted, rising to her feet with her two friends. "I wonder how many points Mike has."

"Thirteen," Bobby responded promptly. "Not bad considering he spent so much time on the bench."

"Yeah, that doesn't make any sense," Alex mused. "They asked him to play, and he looks like the best shooter out there, but he didn't even start."

"I think that's an honor he has to earn," Bobby said. "The other guy has been with the team longer, been to all the practices, and shouldn't just be benched because Mike showed up. Besides, being the sixth man is pretty special."

"Sixth man? But they only play five at a time," Alex observed.

"Yeah, so the first guy off the bench is called the sixth man," Bobby explained. "And it's usually a guy the coach hopes will give the team a big lift when he comes in. And Mike sure did that. They went on a 10-2 run when he got in the game."

"So if he keeps that up, he might be starting soon?" Carolyn asked.

"Definitely," Bobby said with a grin. "They can't keep a guy that good on the bench for long."

"I don't know," Alex said. "They weren't smart enough to ask you to play. They might not be smart enough to see that Mike should start."

Bobby shrugged and said nothing. He looked away briefly, then brightened and turned back to the two women on his left. "Anyone want anything from the concession stand?"

"Hmmm. All this excitement has made me a little hungry," Alex said tentatively, wishing she hadn't said anything to remind Bobby of what he was missing.

"How about some popcorn and a coke?" Bobby asked. "My treat."

"Sounds great. Carolyn, how about you?"

"Mmmm. That would be wonderful, Bobby. Alex, let's hit the restroom while he stands in the food line," she said.

The three scrambled out of the bleachers and headed for the door. Several minutes later, Bobby had collected three cokes and a tub of popcorn and was slouching against the lobby wall, waiting for the women to emerge from the restroom.

"Detective Goren, I didn't expect to see you at a game." It was Ross, accompanied by his two sons.

"Hi, Captain. Hi, guys," Bobby said, standing up straighter.

"Hi, Detective," the boys said, almost in unison, stretching their necks to look up at him.

"I'm here to root for Logan and the team. They look pretty good," Bobby told Ross.

"Yeah, this could be the year that 1PP finally wins something," Ross said with a wry grin. "Usually we're terrible. But this team is good enough that I thought I'd risk bringing the boys out to see them."

"They're not the Knicks, but they aren't bad," Jeremy, the older boy, piped up. "Logan sure can shoot, and that point guard isn't bad either."

"You sound like a knowledgeable fan," Bobby said, smiling at the 15-year-old. "Do you play?"

Jeremy shrugged. "I'm on the jayvee team at school. If I have a good season, I might get promoted to the varsity when our schedule is finished."

"Yeah, that could happen," Bobby said, a faraway look in his eyes. "The varsity guys get a little worn down with the longer schedule. If they make the playoffs, some fresh blood could help."

"That would be cool!" Jeremy said with a grin. "So, how come you aren't on the team? You're big enough. Aren't you good enough?"

"Jeremy!" Ross said sharply.

"It's OK, Captain," Bobby said with a shrug. "That's pretty much on the money, Jeremy. I'm big, but I'm not very good. They don't need a guy like me out there getting in their way."

Just then Alex and Carolyn walked up. "Hi, Captain. Hi, kids," Alex greeted the trio, and Carolyn smiled and nodded at them. After a few minutes of small talk, Ross excused himself and the boys so they could get some refreshments. But before he walked away, he spoke quietly to his big detective. "I am sorry for what Jeremy said. Sometimes he doesn't think before he speaks."

"Really, it's fine, Captain," Bobby reassured him, looking embarrassed.

"What was that about?" Alex asked when Ross and the boys were out of earshot.

"Nothing, Eames," Bobby said, looking away.

"He apologized. It must have been something."

"Jeremy was just wondering why I wasn't playing," Bobby said, shrugging again. "Here, Eames. Here's your coke. I thought we could share the popcorn."

They headed back to their seats for the second half. Alex pursed her lips, determined to put her plan into action later. She wasn't going to let Bobby just sit on the sidelines and suffer. Maybe the basketball team wouldn't include him, but she would.

This time, Mike was in the group of five that went out on the court to start the half. He quickly regained his rhythm, and the whole team seemed to play better. The lead grew to 10 points, 15 and then 18 before 1PP emptied its bench. At the finish, it was 78-68, but it could have been worse if the first string had played the whole way.

"It sure got a little sloppy at the end," Alex said as they walked out of the gym and into the night, breathing in the cool air.

Bobby gestured toward a side entrance, and the three eased their way out of the stream of spectators and headed for a small knot of people gathering to wait for the players to shower and emerge. "That's the difference when you put the lesser players in, but they all practice, so it's good that they got a chance to play in the game."

"Besides, no sense humiliating the SVU and homicide guys," Carolyn interjected. "We do have to work with them sometimes."

"Well, Elliot Stabler has no reason to be embarrassed," Alex said. "He was really good."

"Yeah, he plays hard," Bobby agreed. "I think he had 19 points."

"How many did Mike have?" Carolyn asked.

"Twenty-eight," Bobby said, shaking his head. "He was the best player out there."

The little group chattered excitedly until, one by one, the players appeared, hair damp, gym bags in hand, accepting hugs, kisses and slaps on the back. In twos, threes and fours, they disappeared into the night. Logan was one of the last to emerge, and he risked giving Carolyn a big hug in the shadows. He clapped Bobby on the shoulder and said, "I think you got the better end of this deal. I'm busting my ass out on the court, and you're relaxing in the stands with two beautiful women to keep you company."

Bobby laughed, and Carolyn elbowed Mike in the ribs. "Ouch! Just for that, you can buy me dinner. Whaddya say, folks? Burgers at Harvey's?"

"Great, let's go," Bobby replied as Alex and Carolyn nodded.

Two hours later, sated by food, drink and lively conversation, Bobby and Alex climbed into their SUV to head home.

"Mike sure was hyper tonight," Alex observed as she pointed the vehicle toward Bobby's apartment to drop him off.

"It's a natural thing. All that adrenaline from playing takes time to dissipate. And he had a great game his first time out, so that gave him some extra juice," Bobby said. "He'll probably be wiped out in the morning."

"Speaking of the morning …" Alex said, giving Bobby a sideways glance, "I was wondering if you would consider helping me out with something."

"Sure, Eames. What do you need?" Bobby said curiously. He made it a point never to turn down one of her requests.

"Well, I have a little secret," she said bashfully.

Bobby waited expectantly.

"I'm going to run the Boston Marathon next year."

"Wow, that's awesome, Eames!"

"You can't tell anybody for now. I've got a lot of training to do, and I want to make sure I get through the next few months with no injuries."

"I was hoping you'd do this, but I didn't want to push you to do it before you felt ready."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I hear the wistfulness in your voice when you talk about that race. It's really special. And your last New York Marathon time was good enough to qualify you for it."

"You checked?"

"Yeah, I did," he admitted.

Alex thought about that for a minute and decided she was honored that he cared enough to look into it. "OK, if you're following my every move, buster, you can just get off your butt and help me with my goals."

"S-sure, Eames. What can I do to help?"

"Run with me."

"What? You've got to be kidding. I can't keep up with you."

"You can over short distances. Your strides are longer than mine, and you're in good shape. I've seen you sprint up and down the basketball court. And I know you've done some jogging."

"Yeah, but not the distances you run."

"That's just it. You wouldn't need to," she said, pulling into a no-parking area in front of his apartment building. She turned and looked him in the eye. "I want to be faster over distances. I want to run a better time at Boston. And I can't do that if I don't push harder. I need a rabbit to help me go faster. I want you to be my rabbit."

"Wow," Bobby mused, biting his lip. He wanted to help, but he had no confidence that he could do what she needed. He looked at her. "I'd be worn out after a few miles. How short is your shortest run?"

"Some of them aren't that bad at all. I do five miles and eight to 10 miles during the week and a longer run on weekends."

"I can't even keep up with you over five miles, Eames."

"You wouldn't have to," she said, resting her hand on his forearm and looking at him earnestly. He felt his pulse quicken at her touch, and he knew he would do what she wanted, even if he embarrassed himself. "I'll run a circuit, so you can run a lap with me and then drop out for a lap or two and then run another lap and so on."

Bobby brightened. Yes, he could do that. Maybe he could even keep from making a fool of himself. He smiled at her. "OK, Eames, I'll be your rabbit. So we start tomorrow?"


	11. Something to Think About

**Special thanks to deliriousdancer for the rabbit image. I just had to share a little bit of it.**

**Chapter 11: Something to Think About**

Bobby laid the case file on his desk and groaned as he eased himself into his chair. It had been a little over two weeks since he had begun running with Eames, but every time he thought he was getting used to the pace, she hit him with something new. Yesterday had been his toughest test yet, and even though he had finished the run – much to his surprise – the way he felt today made him wonder if he really could chalk it up in the victory column. As much as he enjoyed her company, he was almost glad she wasn't in the office this morning to see his discomfort.

"DAMMIT!!!" Patterson slammed the phone down, his expletive so loud that the half-dozen detectives scattered around the bullpen looked up from their desks, startled. "I can't believe it. That damn retard is going to get away with this!"

Ross stuck his head outside his office and then strolled over. "What the hell is all the noise about, Detective?"

"Sorry, Captain," Patterson muttered. "I'm just about as pissed off as I can be about this case. I've been trying get another interview with that retard who lives in Judge Garrison's building, and his family has sent him out of state again. He's at a special school for dummies, and the family's lawyers are blocking me from getting access to him. He did this murder; I can feel it in my bones. All I need is to get him into the interrogation room and I can wrap this case up, but the sons of bitches won't let me at him."

Bobby shook his head. He didn't like the way Patterson threw around words like "retard" and "dummies." Regardless of who was behind that murder, there was no reason to show disrespect for people with mental disabilities. He sighed. The guy was supposed to be a good detective, but how could he read people if he lumped them in categories and labeled them with slurs?

Shrugging his shoulders, he resumed studying his files. Deep in his reading for the next hour and a half, he was caught off guard when Logan tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, then winced as sore muscles cried out at the sudden movement.

"Hey, buddy, you OK?" Logan asked, concern wrinkling his features.

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Just wondering what you were doing for lunch. I haven't seen your better half all morning."

Bobby smiled softly at the reference. "She took a personal day. She had her annual physical this morning and a dental checkup this afternoon. You know how sensible and organized she is, so she set them up for the same day."

"Makes it boring for you, though," Logan observed, and Bobby tilted his head and acknowledged the truth with a slight nod. "Anyway, I'm starving, and I was thinking we could have lunch. We don't get as much 'guy time' as we used to get."

"I'd like that," Bobby said, rising slowly – and carefully – from his chair. "Where to?"

Twenty minutes later, they were settled in a booth at a small Italian restaurant they both liked. The shades were down, the curtains pulled, and the dark walls made it a good place to share secrets, even in the early afternoon.

"So what's wrong with you, Goren? You've been hobbling around today like you're a 90-year-old."

Bobby sighed and shrugged. "It's Eames. She's wearing me out," he admitted.

"You dog!" Mike said, reaching over to punch him lightly on the shoulder. "Why didn't you say something before?! Congratulations."

Bobby looked confused, then he blushed as realization hit. "I didn't mean that! Geez, Mike, you've got a one-track mind."

Logan laughed, then looked at him seriously. "Well then, what did you mean?"

"I've been running with her."

"Are you kidding? You're no runner."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"I meant compared to her. She takes it really seriously."

"Tell me about it. I'm the one who can barely move today," Bobby said, sipping his tea.

"So what did she do – make you run the New York Marathon with her?"

"No, she skipped that one this year. She's working on other things, and it didn't fit with her schedule," Bobby said, careful not to mention Eames' Boston dream.

"What sort of things?"

"She's doing speed work. I'm her rabbit."

Mike burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Bobby asked, glowering at his buddy.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself. You are a little fuzzy and gray, and you have big feet. Maybe you would be a good rabbit," he said, trying to suppress his chuckles.

Even Bobby had to laugh a little at the image. "I guess I fit that profile better than sleek runner who can set a fast pace," he acknowledged. "But we have a routine that makes it work. She runs a closed course, and I skip laps so I can rest up and then jump in at a pace just a little faster than she's been running. So she has to pick it up to keep up with me."

"So what happened this weekend?"

"She talked me into running in a race with her. It was a 10-miler, and I had to go the whole way at once. I'm not sure I was ready for it."

"But you finished?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, with a smile and a look that said he had amazed himself. "Of course, Eames was waiting for me at the finish line, already cooled down and finishing a bottle of Gatorade. But at least she had a fresh one for me."

"Hey, buddy, that's great! You should be proud of yourself."

Bobby grinned sheepishly. "I guess I am, kind of. A few weeks ago there was no way I would have thought I could do that."

"You know, Bobby, you underestimate yourself sometimes. We did a lot of running this summer on the basketball court. And a few weeks of training with Eames has probably put you in the best shape of your life. I'll bet you weren't the last guy to finish the race, were you?"

Bobby bowed his head shyly at the praise. "No, I finished in the middle of the pack. I think I could have gone a little faster too, but I didn't want to overdo it and have to drop out. I would have been too embarrassed in front of Eames."

"I'll bet she was pretty proud of you."

Bobby grinned at that. "She bought me dinner to celebrate."

"And you kissed her, of course."

"Uh, well, n-no. I c-couldn't do that."

"Why not, lame ass? You're crazy about her," Mike said, slightly annoyed.

"We're partners, Mike. I'm not going to mess that up," he protested, refusing to confirm Mike's observation, even though the evidence was there in the reddish shade under the scruff on his cheeks.

"You know, buddy, you may be a genius, but sometimes you act dumber than a rock. You're crazy about her. She's crazy about you ..."

"I don't know …"

"Shut up! I'm telling you the facts of life here, so just pay attention, for once," Mike said, determinedly pressing forward. "You two are in love with each other, and you're both too damned afraid to admit it. But your partnership would not – I repeat, not – be messed up. It would be better. You're already on the same wavelength now. You can complete each other's sentences. Hell, you know what each other is thinking without saying a word. And there's nobody else on the planet who can do that with you, Goren."

"That's the part I don't want to mess up," Bobby insisted. "I couldn't possibly work with another partner after being so close to her. If I tried something and she pulled away, it would kill me."

"Trust me, buddy. She wouldn't pull away. I know her." He leaned in close, looking Bobby in the eye. "Barek knows her. She wouldn't pull away."

Bobby caught his breath. Did Mike mean what he thought he meant? Had Alex told Barek she would welcome his advances? He stared back at Mike. "Are you sure?" he asked, so softly that Mike had to strain to hear.

"We're sure," Mike said, holding Bobby's stare.

Bobby sat back quietly, his mind overwhelmed at the thought. After a few minutes, he looked at Logan again. "And it hasn't messed things up for you and Barek."

"It's made it better. Trust me."

"What if the department finds out?"

"Partnerships that click solve crimes, buddy. And when cops solve crimes, their bosses look the other way. They don't want to know. They'll make up excuses not to know. They just want you to catch bad guys."

"Wow, that's a lot to digest, Mike," Bobby said, taking a deep breath and shaking his head.

"Think about it, buddy," Logan replied with a smile. "Meanwhile, you can digest your veal parmesan."


	12. Precious Morning

**This one's short but sweet. More soon, I hope. I just wanted this one to stand alone.**

**Chapter 12: Precious Morning**

The hiss of the water running in the shower changed pitch and then stopped altogether. Bobby looked up from the newspaper and set his cup on the table. Rising, he moved to the coffeemaker and poured a second cup. He added several spoonfuls of sugar, stirred and set the spoon on the counter. Just then Alex swept into the kitchen, hair in a towel, her diminutive figure wrapped in a pink flannel robe. Her cheeks were rosy from scrubbing and the steam of the bathroom. She looked so beautiful that Bobby's hand trembled slightly as he offered her the mug.

"Your turn," she said with a grin. "I hope I left you enough hot water."

What I really need right now is a cold shower, he thought, but he simply smiled and said, "I'll be fine." Gazing into her eyes, he suddenly felt a hunger that had nothing to do with breakfast. It had been convenient to accept her offer to stay in her spare bedroom overnight so they could try a new course to spice up their running, but right now he couldn't help thinking about how wonderful it would be to wake up here every morning. He sighed as reality intruded on his thoughts. "Guess I'd better go get ready," he said. Walking back to the bedroom to get his shaving kit and fresh clothes, he shook his head. I should have kissed her right then, he thought. Did I leave my guts on the trail today?

Twenty minutes later he was showered, shaved, dressed in navy blue slacks and a light blue shirt and knotting his maroon and gray striped tie. His navy blue jacket was draped over the padded swivel chair at the computer desk. He was about to reach for it when he heard her soft knock on the door.

"Bobby, are you decent? I refilled your coffee."

"Sure, Eames, come on in."

The door opened, and she stepped into the room. Bobby caught his breath. She was in charcoal gray slacks and a simple black V-necked sweater that fit her absolutely perfectly. Her hair, now dried, softly framed her face, which was fresh and glowing with health. He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"You look terrific." It was Alex talking, but it was exactly what Bobby was thinking. "Huh?" was all he could muster. Sometimes she had a way of disabling his vocabulary. This was one of those times. He didn't even realize he was staring.

Alex moved a step toward him and set the steaming mug of coffee on the desk. "I said you look terrific, Bobby," she repeated.

Gazing up at him, she reached up to straighten his tie, which really didn't need straightening. She just needed a reason to draw closer, and she was rewarded with the clean scent of soap and aftershave and Bobby. It was a heady mixture, and she found herself blushing as she trailed her fingers down the front of his tie. He caught her hand in his, and she looked up again, surprised but making no effort to pull away.

"So do you," he said, his chocolate eyes smoldering. "Look terrific, that is."

"Thanks," she said softly, her voice catching in her throat.

Still holding her hand to his chest, he brought his other hand up to caress her cheek. She closed her eyes and reveled in his gentle touch. When he paused, she turned her head slightly and touched her lips to his palm. He could barely breathe as he marveled that she was responding to him. When she turned back to look at him, he slowly closed the inches between them and brought his lips, slightly parted, to hers. Momentarily dizzy, he sensed the world falling away as he felt nothing but her lips on his, her hand in his and then her body pressing against his as their kiss deepened. Her hand slid over his shoulder and up to his neck, her fingers gliding gently through his hair, onto his bare skin, and then dipping down inside his collar. She felt him shiver at her touch, and he let go of her other hand, reaching down to lightly guide her hips into him as she put both arms around him. He nuzzled her neck with his cheek as they both drew quick breaths, and then they kissed again, even more passionately, as his hands slid around her to caress her backside.

And then the phone rang. "No," they said softly, in unison, their foreheads resting against each other. Bobby squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He could barely think straight, but he knew he had to clear the fog from his mind. Eames, typically, pulled it together faster.

"I think that's my cell," she said.

"We could ignore it," he said hopefully.

"If it's work, your cell will be next," she pointed out.

He sighed. They broke apart, and Eames backed out of the room, not taking her eyes off of him and not hiding the disappointment that this interruption had caused. Finally, when she reached the hall, she turned, stepped into the other bedroom and plucked the offending phone off the nightstand.

"Eames. Yes, Captain. What's up?"


	13. A New Case and a New Opportunity

**Chapter 13: A New Case and a New Opportunity**

Logan rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe away the sleepiness. He had to admit, work plus Barek plus basketball was a lot, and he was dog tired. With no game or practice the night before, he had used his free time to make sure that any feelings of neglect Barek might have accumulated were banished. Now he was paying with more weariness than he usually felt in the morning. But he couldn't help smiling at her as she sat across from him; she was worth the effort.

The phone on his desk chirped loudly. "Logan," he answered. "Oh … hi, Coach."

Barek looked up as he listened.

"Of course, I will. I've been telling you all along … Look, it's too bad about Barnett and Stanley, but he's a way better 4 player than Stanley anyway. All he needs is a chance. … Yeah, yeah, I understand. I'll explain it. But I hope you'll keep an open mind about him. OK, Coach. See you tonight."

He hung up, and Barek looked at him quizzically. "What was that about?"

"Coach Hunter wants me to ask Goren to practice with us tonight."

"That's great!"

"Well, it's not exactly the best of circumstances. We just lost a second player to the flu – Slim Barnett, our backup center. And our starting power forward, Jeff Stanley, sprained his ankle last night chasing a perp. We don't have enough guys for a full-fledged practice, so that's why he wants Goren."

"Well, it sounds like a good opportunity for him to earn a spot on the team," she pointed out hopefully.

"I'd love that, but Hunter says I should make it clear that it's just for practice," Logan replied. "I don't understand why he's so negative. He really should give Bobby a chance."

Then he added with a sly smile, "The guy could be the second-best player on our team."

locilocilociloci

Bobby was on his hands and knees, sniffing the neck of the lifeless young woman lying facedown on the carpet in the spa's office. "Sweet Temptation," he said softly.

"What?" Eames asked, startled.

"Her fragrance," Bobby said, easing back onto his haunches. "She left the exercise rooms, showered, got dressed up, put on cologne. She was ready to go out somewhere nice – with a person she wanted to impress."

"And then someone clocked her with a 20-pound weight."

"Yes. Not quite how she thought the evening would go, I suspect," he acknowledged.

The detective behind them cleared his throat. "Uh, I think I've told your partner everything I've learned since I got here," he said, addressing Goren. "Now that you Major Case hot shots are up to speed, is it OK if I take off?"

Not reacting to the jealous tone that they were so used to hearing, Bobby and Alex looked at each other. No words were needed; their eyes conveyed that neither had anything else to ask the guy. Bobby turned back to study the body some more, deliberately not replying to the detective, who had chosen to seek his permission and ignore the fact that Eames was the senior partner.

"Yeah, you can take off," Alex dismissed him.

He frowned, then shrugged and walked away.

Alex continued to watch her partner as he walked and crawled around the room, poking and prodding at everything. It was such a relief to see him so absorbed in crime scenes again, recapturing his passion for the hunt, which he seemed to have misplaced for months before and after his mother's death.

After a few more minutes of examining the body of Leslie Kensington Leonard, Bobby finally rose. "I've seen all I need to here. Let's go to her place," he suggested, and Eames nodded.

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the victim's apartment, in an imposing building on the Upper East Side, and were greeted by Jack Leonard, her husband. He was a couple of inches shorter than Bobby and outweighed him by at least 50 pounds, much of it just above his belt. His hair was gray, and he looked to be in his early 40s. His stress lines deepened when they broke the news to him, and tears spilled down his cheeks.

"No," he said softly, with a tone of disbelief. "This can't be real."

He backed out of the foyer and into the living room, stumbling and landing on a sofa. Putting his head in his hands, he sobbed openly. Alex waited for the tears to subside, and Bobby quietly faded into the background, beginning his usual examination of the room and any clues its contents held about the home's residents.

After a few minutes, Alex sat down next to the distraught man. "Mr. Leonard, we are very sorry for your loss. But we need to get some information from you so we can get started figuring out who did this."

"Yes, of course," he replied, wiping his eyes and turning to look at her.

"When did you last speak to Leslie?"

"Yesterday morning."

"Do you know what her plans were for last night?"

"I think she was going out with one of her friends from the spa. I'm not sure which one."

"And you didn't find it odd when she never came home?"

"No, sometimes if she's had a lot to drink and the friend's place is nearby, she just spends the night. She knows I tend to wake up early, and she hates to disturb me in the middle of the night."

Bobby paused in his examination of a book he had pulled from the wall of shelves across from the sofa. "Mr. Leonard, did you suspect your wife of having an affair?"

"What?! Of course not!" he sputtered. "We were happily married for 12 years."

"No children?" Bobby asked, raising his eyebrows.

"We both have been dedicated to our careers. She and two of her friends worked long and hard to make their first spa a success, and they are about to open a second one. They have plans to build a chain, first in the Northeast and eventually all around the country. And I have my restaurant, Leonard's on Fifth. Maybe you've heard of it, although I doubt you've been there on a policeman's salary," he said, clearly annoyed.

"Oh, yes," Bobby said with a wry smile. "I've eaten at the McDonald's down the block a few times."

Alex was barely able to suppress a grin. She and Bobby had eaten at Leonard's a few months before to celebrate a murder conviction in a case they had solved the previous year.

"I guess her spa chain would have had a good chance, with the Kensington fortune to bankroll it," Bobby observed, fingering some knickknacks on a side table.

"Well, naturally that sort of thing helps – money, plus connections. It's all part of doing business, and Leslie brought tremendous acumen to the project," Leonard retorted. "But if her killer was after money, he was wasting his time. They didn't keep much in the safe at the spa."

"No, I suppose not," Bobby said. "The door of the safe was open, though, and there are criminals who will kill for a few dollars, mugging people and robbing bodegas and stuff like that."

"What a tragedy if that is all this was about," Leonard mused.

"Yeah, it sure would be," Bobby said, a faraway look in his eyes.

After a few more questions, Bobby and Alex left Leonard to his misery. They took the elevator to the lobby and walked outside, buttoning their coats against the chill and turning their faces to the late morning sun. Bobby glanced ahead and suddenly stopped, causing Eames to bump into him.

"Oops! Bobby, what …" Eames stopped as she noticed the thoughtful expression on her partner's face. She waited patiently as he gazed up at the apartment building across the street. Frowning, he raised a gloved hand and pointed. "Eames, isn't that the building where Judge Garrison lives?"

locilocilociloci

It was almost 4:30, and Bobby and Alex had finished interviewing another of the spa's three co-founders and two friends of Leslie Leonard's. The third co-founder was out of town but would be back in the morning, so there wasn't much else to do but head back to 1PP and report on the day's work to Captain Ross.

As Alex pulled up to a red light, she glanced sideways at Bobby. "What are the odds that this case and Patterson's are related?" she mused.

"It does seem like a strange coincidence," he said, "murders involving high-profile people in neighboring buildings. We'll have to share information."

He turned to look at her. "I hope you don't mind carrying the load on that. The less I do to antagonize him, the better."

She nodded as the light turned green. "No problem."

When they walked into the bullpen, they were greeted by one very anxious Mike Logan. "Where have you guys been all day?" he asked impatiently.

"On a case. What's the problem?" Eames asked.

"Nothing, except that Bobby has a date at 6 p.m.," Logan replied.

"What are you talking about?" Bobby asked, confused, as Eames stared at him.

Logan cracked a smile. "Not that kind of date. We need you, man. We're short of players for practice tonight."

Bobby looked even more confused. "They don't want me to play."

"Yes, they do," Mike reassured him. "We've lost a guard and two of our big men – two cases of flu and one sprained ankle. We won't have enough for five-on-five unless you help us."

Eames found herself feeling disappointed and excited at the same time. A day puzzling out the nuances of a new case hadn't completely swept away her memories of being in Bobby's arms, and she had hoped they could pick up where they left off. But one look at a wide-eyed Bobby, hope dancing in his eyes, and she knew she couldn't begrudge him a chance to be a part of the team.

Suddenly she realized his eyes were on her, and she heard him saying, "Well, I sort of had plans for tonight …"

"Anything you can postpone until after 8:30?" Logan asked with a pleading tone. "We really need you."

Alex gave Bobby a little nod and a grin, and Bobby's face lit up. "OK, Mike. I'll do it. We've just got to fill Ross in on our case first."


	14. FullCourt Press

**Sorry it's taken so long for me to get back to this. (New Year's resolution: Work on my fan fiction story!) This chapter is heavy-duty basketball, but I promise that the later ones won't be so technical. But this is important for Bobby's situation with the team. By the way, I went back and fixed some continuity and repetition errors in Chapters 6, 11 and 13.**

**Chapter 14: Full-Court Press**

"Coach Hunter, this is Bobby Goren," Logan said as Bobby offered a big paw.

"Nice to meet you, Bobby. I appreciate your joining us tonight, since we're a bit shorthanded," said Hunter, a lean, brown-haired man in his late 50s, wearing dark blue shorts and a white polo shirt, with a whistle dangling around his neck.

"Glad to be here, Coach," Bobby said with a shy smile. "Anything to help the 1PP team. You guys have been playing great."

"Oh, so you've been to some of the games?"

"Every one since Mike joined the team."

"He knows our offenses and defenses better than I do," Logan chimed in.

Hunter raised his eyebrows. "That so, Bobby?"

"I doubt it," Bobby said bashfully. "But I have been watching what you do. Your guys play solid team defense, and Mike and Kramer are a terrific inside-outside scoring combination."

"Well, we have a few weaknesses. Anything you'd care to guess at?" he challenged.

Bobby shrugged and looked at the floor. "I'm not sure some guy from the stands has a right to criticize anything."

Hunter's eyes narrowed. "Mike keeps telling me what a sound fundamental basketball player you are and how smart you are. Prove it. Tell me where we need to improve."

Bobby looked up, tilted his head slightly and met the coach's eyes. "Well, your 2-3 zone could be better. Your 4 man tends to forget he's supposed to provide weakside help. So your center can't afford to front his man and deny him the ball. And you don't trap the corners, maybe because some guys don't go full speed all the time. And even though Kramer's the best center I've seen in the league, he could use some help on the boards."

"Geez, Goren, I thought we were playing pretty well," Logan said in an injured tone.

"I didn't mean to sound so critical," Bobby said, embarrassed. "You guys have kicked ass every time I've seen you play."

"It's OK," Hunter said, keeping a poker face. "I demanded a critique, and that's what I got. Why don't you two go get warmed up? Practice starts in 15 minutes."

As Bobby and Mike trotted away, Hunter rubbed a hand across his mouth to hide his grin. The big guy sure talks a good game, the coach thought. If he can play half as well as he talks …

Precisely 15 minutes later, Hunter's whistle shrilled, and the players gathered around him.

"OK, guys, we've got a really tough one coming up Friday night," the coach said, looking around and meeting his players' eyes. "Those guys from Rikers will pound it inside all night, and they aren't going to feel one bit sorry for us, no matter how many of our people have the flu or sprained ankles. So we're going to have to be solid in the middle.

"We'll start with the first team running our 12 offense and the second team in our 21 defense – Bobby, that's just the straight 2-3 half-court zone with no traps in the corners. Ahmad, you move up to the first team 3 spot, and Jimbo goes to 4. Chris, take Ahmad's spot on the second team. Dave, you stay at 4, and Bobby, take the 5 spot. OK, let's go."

Mike, looking mystified, said, "Uh, Coach, Bobby's not a center."

Hunter shrugged and glanced at his newcomer. "Tonight we need a center more than a power forward. Nick needs a good workout to get ready for the Rikers guys. How about it, Bobby?"

"Sure, Coach. Whatever I can do to help," Bobby said, his expression not indicating any disappointment. He turned and jogged to his spot on the court.

Mike frowned but then shrugged and lined up to begin practice. This wasn't quite what he had in mind.

Ten minutes into the workout, Bobby was holding his own. He set up at Kramer's side and did his best to obstruct the passing lanes, especially when Lester had the ball and was looking inside. If a pass went to Mike, Bobby would slide a little more toward the basket, trying to position himself for the rebound in case Mike took a shot. Even though Kramer was four inches taller, Bobby's careful positioning allowed him to pull more than his share of errant shots off the glass.

Coach Hunter kept a shrewd eye on the play in the middle and was impressed with his new man's savvy and hustle. He was also intrigued that Bobby was able to stay under control when Lester did get the ball inside to Kramer. Instead of trying to make a splash with the team by being overly aggressive and fouling a lot, he accepted the mismatch, keeping his arms straight up to get in the way as much as possible but realizing that Kramer was going to get his points.

Hunter blew his whistle, and the second team went on offense. Having defended against it, Bobby needed no explanation of what to do when his team had the ball. But he did step up his pace, working hard to get Kramer on his hip and make himself open to his guards as they moved the ball on the perimeter. When the ball came his way, if he didn't have inside position on Kramer, he would quickly dump it back outside. The speed of the ball movement created some open shots for the guards and small forward, and Bobby managed a few points too on layups and follows.

After 20 minutes of hard work, it was time for a break. Hunter told his charges to switch to full-court man-to-man, but before they went back on the court, he pulled Kramer aside.

"Nick, I want you to start muscling Goren around," the coach told his starting center.

"Huh?" Kramer said, with a look of surprise.

"Get rough with him for a while. Knock him around a bit."

"Gee, Coach, he's played me clean, and he's just here to help us practice," Kramer said, frowning. "I know he's supposed to be weird, but he seems like a pretty good guy."

"I'm not asking you to hurt him. No cheap shots. Just get tough. Push him around. I hear he has a temper, and I want to see how much he can take."

"OK, Coach, if you say so," Kramer said.

From that point on, Kramer ran Bobby ragged. Every time they went up and down the floor, the taller man bumped him at some point. When Kramer got the ball, he would take it strong to the hoop, shoving his shoulder into Bobby's upper chest. Every time Bobby tried to score, Kramer would hack him on the wrist. And no fouls were called.

At first Bobby was surprised, but as the behavior continued, he felt frustration and annoyance creeping in. Still, he refused to retaliate. He kept reminding himself that he was here to help, and the last thing the team needed was some incident in which another player was injured. But he was puzzled at Kramer's constant hammering. He found himself wondering what he had let himself in for. If the team didn't like him, why did the coach ask him to show up? But he just bit back his disappointment and kept playing the game the right way, the only way he could play and be satisfied with himself.

With the first team on defense as the hour and a half practice neared its end, Ahmad stepped into a passing lane and got his hand on the ball. He managed to tap it to Lester, and the first team started a fast break down the court. Bobby was high in the lane, trying to set a pick, and he immediately sprinted to the opposite end of the floor. He was the first one there, and he turned to find Kramer headed straight for him. Sure enough, Lester fed him the ball. Bobby stepped up, set his feet and awaited the collision. As Kramer went up for the dunk, his thighs smashed into Bobby's chest, and they went down hard.

The whistle blew. "That's a charge, Nick. No basket," Coach Hunter said as he trotted up to them. "Great play, Bobby!"

The coach reached down, and Bobby took his hand and got shakily to his feet. "You OK, son?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, though he wasn't entirely sure. Nick Kramer was even stronger than he looked when he was determined to get to the basket. Breathing hard from the sprint and a little dazed from the collision, Bobby lifted the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe his sweaty brow, then bent over and put his hands on his knees. The world came back into focus, and he heard Coach Hunter say, "OK, fellas, that's enough for one night. Remember, the game's at 7 Friday. Be on time for shooting practice."

Bobby slowly headed toward the locker room, but Coach Hunter called him back. "Sit down a minute," he said, indicating the bleachers.

Bobby took a seat and began mopping his brow with his T-shirt again. He felt as wiped out as he had after his 10-mile run, and this time Eames wasn't right there to make it better.

"You sure you're OK?" the coach asked as he sat down next to him.

"Yeah, I just didn't bow my neck enough as I was going down. Kramer packs a lot of power coming down the lane."

"He does," Hunter said with a smile. "And he'll need every bit of it Friday, because those Rikers guys play rough. Are you up for it?"

Startled, Bobby looked at the coach. "Uh, what do you mean?"

"Friday night. Are you up for a game?" Hunter asked, still smiling.

"You want me to play?"

"I sure do. You play smart basketball. And you hustled every minute of practice tonight. That's why you were in position to take that charge. Everyone else had slowed down a step, and you were still giving it everything you had. And that's after I had Nick work you over all night."

"You told him to do that?" Bobby asked, puzzled.

"Yep. I had to see if you could take it. There's no room for a hot head on my team. We play smart, and when other teams try to rile us up, we don't give in to them." Hunter looked him in the eye. "Seems to me that you fit right in with us."

Bobby sat there a minute, a look of wonder on his face. "So I made the team?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yeah," Hunter said with a smile. "Mike was right. You can help us out there. And I think some things I've heard about you were dead wrong. I trust what I see more than what people tell me. And I like what I see of you on the basketball court. Just be ready to play 4 or 5. We're thin at center with Barnett out."

"Sure, Coach," Bobby said with a huge grin. I can't wait to tell Alex, he thought.


	15. A Night to Remember

**Chapter 15: A Night to Remember**

The SUV rolled to a stop at the curb, and Carolyn hopped in, shivering and wiping flakes of snow off her face. "Ready for the big game?" she asked as she closed the door.

Alex grinned. "You bet!"

Carolyn buckled up, and they were off. "I'm really glad Bobby's getting a chance to play," she said as she took off her gloves and warmed her hands at an air vent on the dashboard. "Mike has been griping and griping about the injustice of him being left out. He was thrilled when Bobby told him in the locker room that he made the team."

"You think Mike was thrilled," Alex said with a sideways glance. "Bobby was bouncing up and down like an 8-year-old at Christmas when he told me. There was a light in his eyes that I've never seen before. Then he gave me an enormous hug. I am so happy for him."

Carolyn looked at her with a tight little smile. "Just a hug? Nothing else?"

"Well, OK, there might have been a kiss in there somewhere too," Alex said, a slight blush coloring her cheeks as she pulled up to a stoplight.

"I knew it! Mike and I have noticed a little bit of extra electricity between you two the past couple of days. So Bobby's finally stepping up to the plate," she said triumphantly. Then she gave Alex a wicked grin. "So, has he gotten to first base … or maybe even hit a home run yet?"

"Wait a minute. It's not baseball season," Alex sidestepped as she accelerated through the intersection. "No mixing sports metaphors on me."

"You don't know any basketball metaphors," Carolyn pointed out.

"Guess I'm going to have to learn a few, huh?" Alex said with a mysterious smile. Then she went silent, smoothly guiding the SUV through the softly falling snow, seemingly oblivious to her impatient passenger.

"So that's all you have to say? OK, be that way," Carolyn harrumphed.

Alex laughed and relented. "All right, since you and Mike have been so patient and helpful … no home runs yet. But I think he might be ready to take a big swing. Maybe even tonight."

"If he has any energy left after the game."

"Well, he's so new on the team, he warned me he probably wouldn't play much tonight. I'm hoping the game gets him all excited, and then maybe I can … well … help him burn off all that excess energy," Alex said, grinning in anticipation.

Carolyn threw back her head and laughed. "I have a feeling it's going to be a big night for you guys. I'll make sure Mike doesn't cause us to linger too much over dinner."

"Thanks, Carolyn."

"No problem. That's what friends are for."

Alex pulled the SUV into the parking garage, and they hurried the one block to the brightly lit gym. It was toasty inside, and both women shed their jackets after they found seats about 10 rows behind the 1PP bench.

Looking down on the court, Alex immediately spotted Bobby, bouncing around under the basket, grabbing missed shots and made shots and passing the balls back to whichever shooter's hands were empty. Mike was just beyond the three-point arc, sinking one shot after another. Carolyn smiled proudly as she watched.

"They look great, don't they?" Alex said quietly enough that nearby clumps of people couldn't hear.

"What?"

"Bobby and Mike. In those navy blue gym shorts and light blue jerseys. They both have great legs," Alex observed with a grin.

"And nice arms and shoulders too," Carolyn added. "There's a lot to be said for the way a man looks in a basketball uniform."

Alex laughed. "And I thought you were a student of the game."

"I am," Carolyn said, with a mock serious look. "All aspects of the game."

A few minutes later the horn sounded, and the players went to their benches. Mike and Bobby both looked up and found their partners. Bobby smiled brightly at Alex, and she gave a slight wave. Mike winked at Carolyn, and she nodded to him.

And then the game began. As Coach Hunter had predicted, Rikers was rough from the start. Nick Kramer and Jim Mitchell had their hands full in the middle as Rikers alternated two sets of frontcourt players, none as tall as Kramer but all built like rocks. The 1PP players paid for every rebound with pushing and shoving and a few elbows to the ribs. The officials called the blatant fouls but let most of it go. Everyone just understood that this was Rikers' way of playing the game – not only making up for a lack of height but also working off the frustration that goes with being a correctional officer rather than a street cop.

Mike was hot from the start, and his shooting kept 1PP on top, but barely. Bobby sat on the bench, watching intently, soaking up every detail about how the Rikers big men played. As the minutes ticked off, Coach Hunter made a few substitutions, but still Bobby sat. Alex found herself shifting in her seat, impatient for him to get in the game. During a timeout, Carolyn leaned her way and quietly said, "Don't worry. He'll get his chance. Remember how long it was before Mike got into his first game."

"Not as long as this," Alex said, annoyed. "He needs to be out there."

"He seems just fine, Alex. The coach will know the right time to put him in."

Just then Bobby shed his sweatshirt and trotted to the scorer's table. Alex grabbed Carolyn's forearm. "He's going in!" Carolyn nodded. On the way back to the huddle, Bobby glanced up at Alex, and she gave him an encouraging smile.

As the team went out on the court, Alex took a deep breath. "He's the one about to play, and I've got butterflies," she admitted. "I want so badly for this to work out for him."

"I was nervous at Mike's first game too," Carolyn acknowledged. "The butterflies will go away after he runs up and down the court a few times."

With Kramer getting a breather, Bobby was at center. The height mismatch that had favored 1PP was gone, but Bobby's solid defense and relentless positioning for rebounds kept Rikers from making any headway. In fact, 1PP had stretched its lead from two points to six when Kramer came back in and Bobby returned to the bench, grinning from ear to ear. He had scored only one basket, but he had five rebounds to show for just over three minutes of play. The 1PP fans cheered him as he found a spot and sat down, and Alex basked in the moment.

Bobby went in again a few minutes before halftime to keep Kramer from picking up his third foul. The game was tied when he went out on the court, but Mike hit a jumper and then Frankie Lester stole the ball and fed Bobby for a layup, and 1PP was up by four when the horn sounded to end the half.

"Whew!" Alex said as they watched the players trot to the locker room. "I feel exhausted."

"I know what you mean," Carolyn said with a nod. "It's tough to just sit here and watch. We're pulling so hard for them, and there's really nothing we can do but cheer and hope. But Mike and Bobby are both playing well."

"I could use a coke," Alex said, rising and grabbing her jacket. "Ladies' room and then the concession stand?"

"Lead the way."

As they waited in line for their drinks, Ross walked up. "Your partner's a damn good player, Eames," he said with a smile. "He sure can rebound."

"Thanks, Captain," she replied. "He's so excited just to get to play, I think he could float up to the basket."

Ross nodded. "He sure has come a long way since the spring." Then he looked at Carolyn. "You and Logan have helped. All three of you have really pulled him through."

"He did most of it himself, Captain," Alex pointed out.

"That's true," Ross acknowledged. "But I don't know if he would have found the strength if you three hadn't been in his corner."

"I think he's noticed that his captain is in his corner too," Alex said. "And I think that's helped settle him some."

"Maybe so, Eames. If it's true, I'm glad. He's a good cop, and he makes the squad better. You all do." With that, Ross gave a nod and headed back into the gym.

"Wow, he's in a good mood," Carolyn said.

"Maybe it's all this winning. Let's just hope the team can keep it up."

As the second half started, Bobby was back on the bench. The Rikers big men kept banging away at their counterparts, and the play got ragged. Bobby spelled Kramer once, but midway through the second half he had played only a few minutes. And slowly, inevitably, 1PP's opponents were closing the gap again. With five minutes to go, Rikers took the lead. A pair of quick turnovers gave the corrections team easy baskets, and before Coach Hunter could get a timeout called, 1PP was down by six.

"Bobby!" he barked before the other players had even reached the bench. "You're going in at 4. Jimbo, move back to 3. OK, guys. We've got four minutes left, and it's time to pull out all the stops. We'll run 55 ball – our full-court man press. Bobby, you've got the inbounds passer on that. You know what to do?"

"Yes, sir," he said, nodding.

"OK, go report in. Let's do it now, men!" The team broke the huddle and headed back out on the court. Coach Hunter watched grimly. He hoped he hadn't waited too long to get what he knew would be his best lineup on the floor. He wanted to ease Bobby in, make sure he was able to prove himself to the team before he was needed in a tight situation, but there was no more time for that. The coach wasn't about to let this game get away if he could help it.

Lester brought the ball up, and after two quick passes, Jimbo lofted a jump shot. It bounced high off the rim, but Kramer got the rebound and was hacked on the arm as he dunked to cut the lead to four. He missed the free throw, but Bobby beat his man to the rebound and laid it off the glass to bring 1PP within a basket.

Rikers' 4 player took the ball out, and Bobby hustled to the baseline to contest the inbounds pass. He managed to tip the ball, and Lester grabbed it and fed him for another layup. Tie game.

The flustered Rikers players barely managed to get the ball upcourt against 1PP's pressure. Their 2 guard missed a jump shot, and Kramer grabbed the rebound and quickly passed it to Lester. 1PP stormed upcourt, and as Bobby headed for the basket, Lester passed to Mike. He pulled up just outside the three-point arc, confidently putting up the shot, knowing Bobby was there to get the rebound if he missed. But he didn't miss. 1PP led 70-67, and the Rikers coach called time.

As Bobby, Mike and their teammates returned to the bench, the 1PP fans stood and cheered wildly. Alex and Carolyn exchanged high-fives, and several people around them did likewise. The 9-0 run had everyone's adrenaline skyrocketing.

Down three points and then five with less than two minutes to go, Rikers resorted to fouling to try to get back in it. Picking on the new man in hopes he was weak at the free-throw line, they fouled Bobby twice. But he sank three of four free throws. Then Kramer hit one of two and Frankie Lester swished both of his, and 1PP salted the game away 78-73.

As the horn sounded to end it, Bobby leaped and let out a yell. The noise was lost in all the cheering from the stands, but Alex gave him a huge smile and threw a fist in the air when he looked her way. Grinning back, he trotted a couple of steps toward her, only to be grabbed by Mike.

"Cool it, big guy," he said, smiling but talking quietly. "Save the victory hugs … or whatever … for the shadows."

"Oh, yeah," Bobby said bashfully. "Thanks, Mike. I was about to get a little carried away there."

He gave a quick wave to Alex, and the men headed for the locker room. The two women mingled with the rest of the fans for a few minutes and then wandered into the lobby to wait. About 20 minutes later, their partners joined them, hair still damp from the shower, and they headed outside into the darkness.

Letting Mike and Carolyn get a few feet ahead as they approached the glow of the streetlights, Bobby suddenly slid his arm around Alex's waist. She turned to look at him, and he quickly pulled her to him. Dipping his head, he found her lips for a firm kiss that hinted of more. As he held her there for a moment, she smiled up at him. "I think we've got a lot to celebrate tonight," she said. He grinned and nodded, running his fingers gently through her snow-flecked hair.

It was burgers and beers all around at Harvey's. The foursome ate and drank heartily, rehashing the game's exciting moments, especially the flurry at the end. But, as promised, there was no lingering on this night.

As they began getting into their coats to head home, Mike clapped Bobby on the shoulder. "Goren, that was one hell of a debut. We wouldn't have won the game without you," he said. "It's great to have you on the team."

Bobby paused as he held Alex's jacket for her. Looking at Mike with a shy smile, he said simply, "It's great to be on the team. It's been a long time since I felt this way."

Ten minutes later, Alex was driving up the street to Bobby's apartment.

"Come on up and stay tonight," he suggested, "so we can run together in the morning."

Alex smiled as she parked and pulled the key out of the ignition. "Are you sure you'll have enough energy to run tomorrow?" she challenged.

"I've got plenty of energy," he said with a lopsided grin, meeting her eyes. There was no mistaking what was in his look, and Alex caught her breath. She reached up and ran her fingers through the stubble on his cheek. Then she nodded and said, "Let's go."

Hurrying inside, they boarded the elevator and were soon at his door. He fumbled with the keys but managed to get it open. They slipped inside, and he locked the door and turned to her. They quickly shed their jackets and embraced in the hallway, mouths seeking, finding, opening to each other. As their passions rose, they kissed their way toward the bedroom. Briefly coming up for air, Alex managed, "Are you sure you're going to have enough energy to run in the morning?"

He tilted his head and gave her a little grin. "Well, maybe we could run in the afternoon."

**Use your imagination from here, folks. Bedroom scenes aren't my strength. I'll pick up the story after …**


	16. Chasing Leads

**Chapter 16: Chasing Leads**

Chin resting on his palm, Danny Ross had been gazing out the glass wall of his office at his two best detectives for several minutes. Eames, in a tan sweater and brown slacks, had her back to Ross, sitting in her chair, sipping her coffee and savoring bites of a Danish. Goren, in a dark gray suit, white shirt and tie striped in royal and sky blue, was perched on the edge of her desk, smiling down at her as they talked quietly, laughing occasionally.

Ross couldn't help staring. It was hard to believe that this was the same Bobby Goren he had clashed with so many times since taking over as captain of Major Case. The detective, who had been balanced precariously on an emotional tightrope a year ago, even six months ago, seemed so settled, relaxed and happy.

A slight smile tugged at the corners of Ross' mouth. He was relieved that things were better. He no longer felt a need to show he was the boss, putting Goren in his place. He no longer felt the challenge to his authority that Goren had pricked him with so often, possibly as an outlet for the frustration and hurt that had filled the detective as his mother's days waned.

Mostly, what Ross felt now was curiosity. He knew Goren's friends had stuck close by him and shepherded him through the dark times. And he knew Goren had an extraordinary will to survive that somehow had carried him through a difficult childhood (though Ross didn't know all the details) and his mother's illness and death. But he couldn't help thinking there had to be something more to the equation for this kind of happiness. It couldn't be just basketball, could it? Being on a team? Finally hearing cheers after all those years of being treated like an outcast? Would that have affected him so deeply?

He drummed his fingers on the desk and continued his surveillance. And suddenly it hit him. He was, after all, a detective – a leader of detectives – and something so monumental was not likely to get by him. The body language, the look on Goren's face, the way Eames leaned toward him … and Ross just knew.

He had heard the rumors long before he took over Major Case, and he had watched them closely in the early days. There was a deep bond, put to the test by Eames' kidnapping and Bobby's bad behavior. But Ross trusted his gut, and his gut had told him that no, they were not involved romantically. And now, suddenly, his gut was telling him something different. Had he missed it before? He shook his head. No, he was sure it hadn't been there. He sensed that this was something new. And, he thought impishly, he just had to test his theory …

Ross pushed his chair away from his desk, rose and strolled out to the bullpen. Approaching the partners, he shoved his hands in his pockets and gave them a casual smile. "You two sure are in a good mood for a Monday morning," he observed.

Goren looked surprised, and Ross was sure he saw guilt flash in the big detective's eyes. "Hey, it's OK," the captain said, punching him lightly on the arm. "You've got a right to be, after the game you played Friday night. You deserve to bask in the afterglow a bit."

Goren winced slightly at the word "afterglow" and then gave the captain an embarrassed smile as Ross barely managed to suppress a grin of triumph. "I didn't do much, Captain – just tried to help out a bit. They've got some guys out hurt and sick, but once they get healthy, I doubt they'll need any help from me."

"I wouldn't count on that, Detective," Ross replied. "From what I saw, they're going to have a hard time keeping you on the bench. There was a reason you were in the game at crunch time."

Goren shrugged and bowed his head. "Well, I plan to do my best, whatever happens. It's been a long time since I got to play on a team."

"It just might turn out to be a championship team, you know," Ross said.

"Yeah, I know. It would be fun to go along for the ride," Bobby acknowledged.

The captain turned toward Eames. "You ought to be pretty proud of your partner. He came up big on Friday night."

"I am," she managed to get out as she fought a bigger grin than a simple comment about a basketball game should have elicited. The look in her eyes before she glanced away was every bit as much of a "tell" as Goren's guilt, their captain thought.

Ross, keeping his poker face on, decided he'd better switch to business before they caught on to the little game he was enjoying. "So, what do you two have planned for today on the Kensington Leonard case?"

"We've got interviews with two more friends this morning, and we're scheduled to talk to the boyfriend this afternoon. His flight arrives just before noon," Eames said. "And her tox screen is due back today, although we're not counting on any big surprises there to help us."

She glanced at her partner and then added, "Bobby wants to get a look at the roof of Judge Garrison's apartment building. And we want to check out the sight lines from the Leonards' apartment."

Ross raised his eyebrows. "And Patterson knows what you're up to?"

"I filled him in Friday," Eames said. "He was a little balky, but then he decided it couldn't hurt, since he's seen everything he needs to see at his crime scene. Plus, I told him he was welcome to check out our scene and look at all the photos and other evidence. He's convinced it's the same killer, though we think that's a little premature."

"Any indications so far that the two murders could be related, besides the fact that the victims are neighbors?" Ross asked, looking back and forth at the two detectives.

"We haven't been able to nail down Leslie's timeline completely," Bobby said with a slight frown. "But so far, her whereabouts at the time of the other murder are unknown. She usually didn't go in to work on Mondays until about 1, and we haven't found evidence of other appointments or shopping trips that morning. She could have been home, as far as we know. And if she witnessed the murder …"

"She could have been targeted."

"Exactly," Eames said.

"But why would she have kept quiet about it?"

"Well, there are a lot of possibilities," Bobby said, rubbing a hand over a clean-shaven cheek. "She might have known the killer. Or maybe she didn't see him clearly – whether he thought she did or not – and she might have simply decided not to get involved since she couldn't really ID him. Or she might have been too scared."

"With her money, if she were scared, she could have bought plenty of protection – or distance from danger, like a vacation in Tahiti," Ross pointed out.

"True, but that would have meant disruptions to her life," Eames replied. "She and her partners were about to expand the business …"

"And she had an affair going on," Bobby chimed in, carefully avoiding Eames' eyes and hoping that he could keep from blushing. "When love is in the air, it's hard to just drop everything and take off."

"Well, if she saw it and kept quiet, she paid a high price for that silence."

Both detectives nodded.

"OK, keep me informed." Ross strode off.

"Whew," Bobby said with a grin as soon as the captain was out of earshot. "I was afraid we were busted."

"It's your fault for being so damn happy, Goren," Eames said, tossing a paper wad at him.

Bobby glanced around to make sure no one was nearby and then leaned in close to her ear. "Can you blame me for being incredibly happy? I just spent most of the weekend in bed with the woman of my dreams."

Alex bowed her head and let her fingers drift along the back of his right hand, which was resting on her desk. "You sure have a way with words, Bobby," she said quietly. Then, looking up with a grin, she added, "You have a way with some other things too."

Bobby stifled a laugh as he rose from the desk. "C'mon, let's get out of here. It's almost time to meet up with Gail Hastings."

Two fruitless interviews and one dull tox screen later, they were headed to the boyfriend's home in Glen Cove on Long Island. They stopped along the way for sandwiches, coffee and a brief review of their notes and then got back on the highway. It was a sunny but slightly chilly day with just a little breeze, very nice for a drive.

Alex guided the SUV out 495 and turned north, finding her way to Glen Cove Avenue. A few more turns and they were on Highland Road, sparsely populated with large, beautiful homes set back from the road. Bobby reviewed the directions, and they soon found the right driveway.

As they pulled in, they noticed a smaller driveway to the servants' quarters, where a tall, thin, elderly gentleman was washing a coat of mud off a tan Chevy Tahoe. When he saw them, he turned off the water and strolled over, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Good afternoon. I'm Richard," he said with a slight bow. "May I help you?"

"We have an appointment with Mr. Saunders," Alex said. "I'm Detective Eames of the NYPD, and this is my partner, Detective Goren."

"Yes, indeed. Mr. Saunders told me you'd be stopping by. He just got in an hour ago."

"Somebody sure got the SUV dirty while he was gone," Bobby observed.

"Oh, he did that himself," Richard said with a chuckle. "He just can't stay away from the slopes."

"I thought he went to Hartford by plane for a convention," Bobby said, frowning.

"Yes, he did. I drove up so he would have his favorite set of wheels for a side trip to Mohawk Mountain. He skis every chance he gets."

"His favorite wheels. So you didn't drive him?" Bobby asked.

"My goodness, no," Richard said with an easy laugh. "I enjoyed a lovely day browsing the bookstores in Hartford and retired early. I must say I was in far better shape the next day than Mr. Saunders was."

"What do you mean?" Alex prodded.

"After a full day on the slopes, Mr. Saunders was exhausted and had a sore knee. He didn't get up until after lunch. It seems quite an exhausting sport, if I do say so myself."

Just then, Saunders opened the front door. He was in his early 30s, about 6-1, with a slender, athletic build, short blond hair and piercing green eyes, and he was casually dressed in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt. "Hi, I'm Jason Saunders. I saw you drive up. You must be the detectives."

Eames introduced herself and Bobby again, and Saunders suggested they talk in the study. As they entered the foyer, a young brunette in a white tennis outfit and a lime green sweater bounced down the stairs. "Jake, I'm going out to hit some balls before it gets too cold. Oh, hello. I didn't know we had guests."

"That's quite all right, Stacy. It's just a little business matter I need to take care of," Saunders said as he herded the detectives toward the back of the house.

"Jake, you can introduce us, you know. I won't bite," Stacy said a little sharply.

"Yes, dear," he said with a sigh. Then he smiled brightly, went over and took her hand as she descended the last few stairs. He kissed her on the cheek and then lowered his voice conspiratorially, but loud enough for Bobby and Alex to hear. "Actually, they are NYPD detectives, and they want to ask me about a customer who was killed while I was out of town. I didn't want to alarm you."

Then he turned to the detectives and politely introduced her. "Detectives Eames and Goren, this is my lovely wife, Stacy Saunders."

"Nice to meet you. So you are investigating a murder?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Yes, we are," Eames confirmed. "You didn't happen to know a Leslie Kensington Leonard, did you?"

"Oh, dear. I saw that on the news," Stacy said, wrinkling her brow. "I know a few Kensingtons, but they're quite a big family. Jake, you said she was a customer?"

"She owned a spa in the city and was about to expand," Saunders replied. "We were working on a deal for exercise equipment."

"Oh." Stacy frowned again. "No, I don't think I ever met her. I don't need to go to the city to exercise, and most of the parties I attend are here on the island. Well, I hope you can help them, Jake."

She gave a nod to the detectives and excused herself to head to the tennis court.

After the door closed, Saunders turned to the detectives, smiling as his gaze lingered on Alex. "Well, let's go to the study. I'll be happy to help you any way I can."

The wood-paneled room was filled from floor to ceiling with bookshelves, and a large desk sat along the far wall. Two chairs faced it. With a hand lightly resting on the small of her back, Saunders guided Alex to one of the chairs. Then he turned to the sideboard. "Miss Eames, may I get you something to drink?" he asked, glass in hand. "I'm very well-stocked."

"No, thanks," she replied.

"Mr. Goren, how about you?" he asked, keeping his back to the detective and dropping two ice cubes into a glass.

"No. My partner and I are on duty, Mr. Saunders," Bobby said, feeling slightly annoyed. He took a deep breath. "I'm impressed with your book collection. You don't seem like the type to sit around and read."

Saunders laughed as he poured himself two fingers of scotch. "Those were my father-in-law's. We inherited the house seven years ago when Stacy's parents died in a car crash. I think Richard spends more time in here reading than I do."

"You let the hired help linger in your study and read?" Bobby asked. "That's very egalitarian of you."

"Detective, I come from a humble background. I've done quite well for myself with ski and exercise equipment, but I know we're all just a few bad breaks from needing a 9-to-5 job," Saunders said. "I respect working people. Without them, where would we all be?"

He smiled and touched Eames lightly on the shoulder. "Just like you, Miss Eames. Where would we be if we didn't have people like you to watch out for us and keep us safe from criminals? And yet, if you meet the right man at the right time, you might someday find yourself leaving the dangerous world of the NYPD behind."

Bobby growled under his breath. He didn't like that touch on Alex, and he didn't like the fact that Saunders had quickly picked up on the absence of a ring on Alex's finger. And he didn't like the wolfish look on Saunders' face, or the fact that he was turning on the charm just moments after his wife had left the house.

His voice low but level, Bobby asked, "So was that what attracted you to Mrs. Leonard – the fact that she was working for a living as well as being rich?"

"Attracted me?" Saunders turned and looked at Bobby blankly.

"Come on, Jake. We talked to her closest friends. We know you two were having an affair."

"An affair? You've got to be kidding. We were going to be business partners." Saunders looked adamant, but Bobby just stared at him and waited. Desperately, the man turned to Alex. "Surely you don't believe …"

Alex also stared at him and said nothing.

Finally, Saunders shrugged and looked at the floor. He leaned against a chair and sighed, and his shoulders sagged. "OK," he admitted. "We were having an affair. Please don't tell my wife. No good could come of her knowing about it now."

"No good for you, you mean," Alex said pointedly.

"Tell us about your relationship with Mrs. Leonard," Bobby pressed.

"We met about a year and a half ago," Saunders said. "I was trying to get a deal with her spa. It's very high-class, and so is the clientele. I figured if I could get a foot in the door, I would be able to cash in with an exclusive contract as they expanded and with private sales to the members for home workout rooms. It was going to be a gold mine."

"So you got in bed with her to get in business with her," Bobby said.

"No, no. It wasn't like that. We hit it off. Her husband is, let's just say, not exactly the most fun in the romance department. And he's always busy at that damn restaurant of his. She liked clubs and music and, well, a good time," Saunders said with a cocky grin. He made one more try at Alex, meeting her eyes and suggesting in his smoothest voice, "If a woman is looking for a really good time, I seem to have a knack for showing her one."

"Maybe some of us women already know where to find a better time than you could possibly imagine," Alex retorted with a thinly veiled look of contempt. Bobby rested an elbow in one hand and covered his mouth with the other hand, hiding a shy smile.

Saunders took a half step back, an involuntary response to her tone. Then he shrugged again. "Well, I guess I can't expect you two to understand. But I really liked her. We had a lot of fun. And I was good to Stacy too. I was attentive and careful not to hurt her. Everything was great, and I had no reason to hurt Leslie. And besides, I was out of state when it happened."

"What makes you think we suspect you of killing her, Mr. Saunders?" Bobby asked.

Saunders looked baffled. "Isn't that why you're here? You knew we were having an affair. Isn't the boyfriend always a suspect? And the husband? And the business partners? Or maybe a robber off the street?"

"Well, we do like to consider all the options," Bobby said with smile and a little nod. "But since you were out of town, unless you hired somebody, I guess it would have been a little hard for you to kill her, wouldn't it?"

"Exactly, Detective. And now, if you don't mind, I have some paperwork to catch up on."

"We'll see ourselves out," Alex offered, getting to her feet. She and Bobby quickly left the house. Before climbing into the SUV, Bobby wandered back over to Richard. "That Tahoe sure is cleaning up nicely," he said, drawing a smile from the servant. "I've been thinking about getting one myself. It would be great for camping trips. Mind if I look inside?"

"Well, I suppose a quick peek wouldn't hurt," Richard said, opening the driver's door.

Bobby slid into the front seat and looked around, feeling the steering wheel, examining the dashboard, getting a sense of the vehicle's roominess. Then he slid out. "Yep, it's nice, all right. I'll bet my camping equipment would fit just as well as the ski stuff. Thanks, Richard."

The man nodded, and Bobby sauntered away to join Alex in the SUV. As he climbed in beside her, he gave her a smile. "Very interesting. I think he's a candidate. But if he doesn't keep his hands off my partner, he's going to be a victim, not a perp."

Alex laughed and turned the key, and they circled around toward the main road.


	17. An Unexpected Encounter

**Hi, everyone. It's been a loooooonnnngg time since I updated, and I apologize for being such a procrastinator. Special thanks to TeddyMo and LoganBarekFan for encouraging me recently to get back at it. To LoganBarekFan, I'm sorry to report that your two favorites are off stage in this chapter, but I promise they will be back in Chapter 18 and throughout the rest of the story. (And I promise to start working on Chapter 18 as soon as I return from a weekend trip.) I've also read back through my whole story and made some small editing changes.**

**Chapter 17: An Unexpected Encounter**

The trip back to Manhattan passed quickly, and Alex pointed the SUV toward the Upper East Side. A few cell phone calls along the way had secured permission from Jack Leonard to enter his apartment, though he was busy at the restaurant, as usual.

After parking, the detectives met the doorman at Leonard's building and then split up, with Bobby heading back outside and across the street to Judge Garrison's building.

Flashing his badge, Bobby told the doorman, "Detective Goren, Major Case. I need to see the rooftop garden."

"The crime scene? The tape's been down for a week," the man said. "I thought all the detectives were finished up there."

"Just a few more details to check out," Bobby said. "I won't be up there too long."

Handing over a spare key, the doorman nodded toward the elevator. A few minutes later, Bobby stepped out on the roof.

The scents of ginger and wintergreen rode the cool breeze to his nostrils as his eyes roamed over the carefully cultivated oasis. More than a dozen species of flowers and shrubs shared an area the size of a tennis court with two wicker sofas, a matching table, several chairs and a small fountain with a pair of lions spouting streams of water. It was tidy and tranquil, and the view of Central Park and the rest of Manhattan was gorgeous.

Bobby stood very still, his only stirring the intake of breath as he soaked up the peaceful atmosphere. The sun had begun to dip and would soon fall behind the buildings to the west, beyond the park.

A wistful longing tugged at Bobby's stomach, and he suddenly realized he wished Alex were standing next to him and they were about to enjoy a spectacular sunset and a romantic evening in this glorious Eden, with no case to solve and no dark thoughts about who would take a human life and why.

He sighed, shook himself from his reverie and strolled to the eastern edge of the building. It didn't take long to find the blood-dappled portion of the wall where the boyfriend had been shoved overboard. Bobby spent a few minutes studying the area, taking note of other sprinkles of blood, all of which he knew the crime scene unit had matched to the victim. It seemed the killer had suffered no damage in the scuffle – at least, none that left DNA evidence.

His cell phone chirped. "Goren."

"I'm spying on you," Alex teased.

Bobby peered across the street and spotted her watching from a window in Leonard's apartment. "Is your view of me as good as mine of you?"

"It would be better if the sun weren't backlighting you," she observed.

Bobby moved toward one of the sofas to change her angle of sight and eliminate the silhouette effect.

"Yeah, that's good. I can see you clearly now," Alex said. "Even if you were a stranger, I could describe you to a sketch artist."

"Hmmmm," Bobby said, tilting his head as he considered his own view. "Well, it looks like the killer could have spotted her. I wonder, though, how likely that is since he would have been pretty busy tossing the victim off the roof. There are a lot of windows over there, and he would have had to look in just the right one. And the time of death was well after dawn, so he would have been looking toward the sun, maybe having the same problem you had seeing me clearly."

"The building could have blocked it."

"That's true," Bobby mused. "The two-victims-one-killer theory is still a possibility, though maybe a bit of a long shot."

Alex nodded in agreement. "OK. Anything more to see here, or should we head back to 1PP?"

Bobby hesitated. "I'd like to look around the roof a little more. How about if you join me over here?"

"Be there in five," Alex replied. She closed her phone and turned away from the window.

Bobby smiled to himself. He did want a better look at the crime scene, but he had an ulterior motive: He wanted to share a few relaxing moments with Alex in this paradise. Their duties at Major Case often led them along the paths of the rich and famous, but rarely did they get to stop and smell the superbly cultivated roses. And though he usually was so engrossed in the case that it didn't bother him, this time he felt a powerful desire to steal a precious moment and indulge their awakening love.

Perhaps it was those pleasantly distracting thoughts that caused him to let his guard down. The intruder was within 10 feet of him when Bobby realized the hairs on his neck were standing up. He whirled and took a backward step, and the giant stopped and stared at him.

Bobby wasn't used to being confronted by a larger man. This one was a good four inches taller and probably outweighed Bobby by 70 or 80 pounds. And he was frowning and looking very territorial.

"What are you doing up here?" the giant asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," Bobby said. "I'm Detective Goren of Major Case, and I'm examining a crime scene."

"You're a policeman?" the giant asked, staring at the badge Bobby was pointing to, clipped to his breast pocket.

"Yes, that's right," Bobby replied, tilting his head and studying the huge young man. Taking in his size, his slow and simple speech patterns and the features of a face that he remembered from a photo in the case file, Bobby realized that this was the man Patterson had unkindly referred to as "the retard" – his prime suspect. "You can call me Bobby. What's your name?"

"I'm Joey," he said, and though his voice carried less of a challenge, he still eyed Bobby warily.

Bobby nodded. "You live around here?"

"Yeah, the top floor. But I'm away at school a lot. I just got back yesterday. Tomorrow's my birthday."

"Oh. That's nice," Bobby smiled at him. He paused and then dove in. "Did you know there was a murder here?"

Joey looked down at his shoes. "Yeah, I heard. That guy with the beard. Julie's friend."

"Yes, Julie Garrison's boyfriend," Bobby agreed.

"It's OK. She's got lots of other friends."

"Are you her friend?"

Joey's face lit up in a huge smile. "She's my best friend! We're friends forever and always. That's what she said."

"So you've known her for a long time."

Joey frowned and looked at Bobby as if he were dimwitted. "Of course! That's what I said! Friends forever. She's nice to me, even when the other kids are mean. She calms me down."

"Well, you've been away at school, so I guess you haven't seen your friend lately."

"That's just for a little while. My dad says I can come home when things cool off. And it's almost winter," Joey said. "I'm going to see her tonight. She always comes up here. We used to sit here in the garden and talk. I know she'll be here soon. It's our spot."

"Your spot. Your friend. I get that," Bobby said, nodding. He tilted his head again and looked closely at Joey. "But people grow up and grow apart. She might meet someone and get married and go live somewhere else."

Joey's eyes blazed. "NO!!" he said, agitation back in his voice. "She can't leave. She's my friend."

"But if her friend Tommy hadn't died, maybe she would have married him."

"Well, she won't now!" Joey said defiantly.

Bobby nodded and took another step back, turning a bit sideways and glancing at the building to the east. "This seems like such a private spot, but it really isn't, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you can think you're all alone with someone up here, but really, someone could be watching everything you do."

"Everything?" Joey's eyes widened. "Who? Where?" He looked around.

"Well, for example, over there." Bobby pointed at Jack Leonard's building.

Joey stared at it, his expression confused, and then something clicked. He swung back to look at Bobby. "Somebody says they saw something? I didn't do anything!"

"I didn't say you did, Joey," Bobby said, edging away again as warning bells went off in his head. He suddenly wondered where Eames was. Surely it had been five minutes. "It's OK. Everything's OK, Joey."

Clearly, everything was not OK with Joey. He stepped toward Bobby, who held up his hands and his binder in front of him and tried to soothe the panicky young man. Bobby continued backing up, but Joey moved quickly and closed the gap. As they passed the fountain, Joey reached behind one of the lions and grabbed a gardening shovel.

On Bobby's next step back, his heel bumped a planter and he stumbled. Joey swung the shovel, and it caught him in the forehead, a glancing blow but powerful enough to knock Bobby to the ground. He reached out with his right hand and tried to break his fall, and he felt a stinging pain shoot through his wrist. As he hit the ground he tried to roll away from Joey, fearing a second, more direct hit. But the young giant dropped the shovel and took off toward a far corner of the roof.

Bobby tried to get up and follow, but his stomach lurched, the world spun, and he toppled backward, blood streaming from a gash above his left eye. He didn't see Joey slip through a trap door as his vision fogged and then went black.


	18. Dazed and Subdued

**Chapter 18: Dazed and Subdued**

Alex opened the door and stepped out on the roof. She looked around, puzzled that she didn't see her partner. Was he on his hands and knees studying the crime scene, or was he playing a little game with her? She shrugged, smiled and headed for the spot where she had last seen him.

And then she spotted him, or, more precisely, his legs, sticking out from behind some shrubbery. Her gun was in her hand almost as fast as her heart was in her throat. Crouching, she whirled and looked behind her. No one. A few more steps and she had a better look at Bobby. He was on his back and out cold, but she could see that he was breathing. Forcing herself to be professional, she quickly circled the roof, checking for anyone hidden behind furniture or greenery. Nothing.

She holstered her weapon and knelt at her partner's side. Her heart was pumping wildly as she extended two fingers to his neck and felt the pulse in his carotid artery. It was steady, thank goodness. But the nasty gash just above his eyebrow was streaming blood. She pulled out her cell phone, hit the dispatch number on her speed dial, identified herself and made the report everyone dreaded: "Officer down." She gave her location and a few details and asked that Captain Ross be notified. As she was talking, she pulled Bobby's fresh white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood.

After a few moments, he stirred and groaned. He opened his eyes but couldn't focus, though he was aware even without looking that Alex was at his side. He tried to lift his head but moaned again and fell back.

"Easy, Bobby, easy," Alex soothed. "Just lie still. You're gonna be OK. Help's coming."

Bobby relaxed under her touch, closed his eyes and opened them again, and then he blinked a few times to try to get Alex's face in focus.

Her right hand still pressing firmly on the handkerchief at his forehead, she brought her left hand up and caressed the side of his face. "It's OK, Bobby," she repeated. "You're gonna be fine."

"Joey MacGruder …" he managed to get out.

"MacGruder did this? Where did he go? I didn't see him on my way up here."

Bobby turned his head painfully and tried to point at the northwest corner of the building. "Over there." The effort exhausted him, and his left hand dropped to his chest.

"There's nothing but plants over there," Alex said. Then her eyes narrowed. "Except an air conditioning vent."

"Escape route. He knows how to get away fast," Bobby gasped. "He killed Tommy Barnes."

"And Leslie?"

"No, I don't think so." Bobby closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing as another wave of nausea hit. In the distance he heard sirens. "Stupid, stupid. I should have waited for you …"

Alex called in again, reporting that Bobby had identified Joey MacGruder as his assailant. Nearby units were sealing off the building, and Ross, Patterson and Kowalski were on the way. An APB was being broadcast, just in case Joey had made it to the street before the lockdown.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Bobby had still made no effort to get up. That worried Alex, even though she was a little relieved that he wasn't being unmanageable. The two young men quickly set about checking his vital signs and asking them questions.

How long had Bobby been unconscious? Considering his conversation with Joey and the amount of time it took Alex to get there, it couldn't have been more than a minute or two. Was his memory clear? Yes, he remembered everything leading up to Joey's attack and then Alex arriving and taking care of him. How did he feel? A little nauseated. Tired. Maybe a bit dizzy. He was having trouble focusing, and he got upset when they shined a light in his eyes. Alex soothed him again, gently stroking his curls and keeping a hand on his right shoulder as she knelt near his head.

The medics were getting ready to put Bobby on a gurney when the Major Case trio arrived. Patterson stormed over and stared down at the fallen detective.

"What the hell's the matter with you, Goren? Are you trying to blow my case?" he yelled.

"Back off!" Alex told him, stepping in and giving him a shove that was much firmer than he would have expected from someone her size.

Ross stepped between the two mismatched detectives.

"Captain, he had no business confronting MacGruder," Patterson said. "He's MY suspect. Goren's fouled up everything."

"We had no idea the kid would be here," Alex replied angrily. "I thought you were keeping tabs on his family. Why didn't you warn us he was home?"

Patterson scowled at her but said nothing. He didn't want to admit he had been caught off guard by Joey's return.

"And why didn't you tell us about the escape route?"

Patterson was puzzled. "Escape route?"

Alex eyed him triumphantly. "Yeah. You'd better take another look at that air conditioning vent. Maybe if you hadn't done such a half-assed job of checking the crime scene, your case would be solved and your suspect wouldn't be assaulting a cop."

"All right, you two. That's enough," Ross said, glaring at them. "Eames, go take care of your partner. Patterson, Kowalski, give this place a thorough going-over. Get the CSIs back up here, collect the evidence from this assault and check the damn air conditioning vent for any evidence from this attack or the murder."

Alex was more than happy to get back to Bobby's side and leave Patterson and the rest of NYPD to check the roof again. She accompanied the medics and the gurney-bound Bobby back down to the street and hopped into the ambulance with them for the ride to the hospital. Bobby was surprisingly quiet, but once the doors closed, he reached for her hand.

He remained subdued as he was wheeled into the emergency room. Because his injuries weren't too severe, Alex was allowed to stay as the doctors examined him. After X-rays, a CT scan, 23 stitches, a bandage around his head, and another encasing his right hand and wrist, he was moved to a private room for overnight observation.

The nurses helped Bobby into a hospital gown and settled him into bed under a warm blanket as Alex waited outside the room for appearance's sake. Then they welcomed her in and left the pair alone.

Alex pulled a soft-backed chair to the side of Bobby's bed and sat down. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his salt-and-pepper curls and gazed into his big brown eyes. She saw pain and need in them. And as she often did, she marveled at how much like a little boy he could look in vulnerable moments like this.

Gingerly, Bobby turned onto his side to face her. Seeing the worry in her eyes, he managed a shy grin and reached up to caress her face with gentle fingertips. "I'm sorry if I scared you," he said softly.

She smiled at that, covered his hand with hers and brought his palm to her lips for a kiss. "I'm just glad you're OK. It's Joey MacGruder who owes me an apology. And I might just take it out of his hide."

Bobby frowned. "Don't make the mistake I did. He's too big and strong to confront alone."

"Bobby, you didn't make a mistake. You got enough out of him to know in your gut what he did and what he didn't do."

"I shouldn't have pressed so hard. I could see his temper rising, and I should have waited for help … for you. But the questioning was working; he was revealing more than he realized. I couldn't resist the chance to get all the answers right then. And because of that, I'm in the hospital and he's on the loose."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. And don't worry; we'll get him. Maybe Patterson will run him down and save some face after failing to notice that his prime suspect was back under his nose."

"Joey came back for his birthday," Bobby told her. "Patterson should have anticipated that. Emotionally, Joey is just a big kid. If Patterson weren't so insensitive, he would have realized that it would be a big occasion to Joey and his family – one worth taking a risk for. Patterson should have been there to greet Joey, not me."

Alex nodded. "Patterson definitely isn't the sensitive type. In this case, that's a weak spot."

"Well, there's a lot of fault to go around here. Except for you – you were terrific," Bobby said admiringly. "You secured the scene, got help for me and handled everything professionally. I guess you proved it's possible for us to be lovers and partners at the same time, in case we had any doubts."

She sighed. "I should warn you: It's not easy. If I hadn't been afraid your assailant might be lurking somewhere ready to kill both of us, I might have just dropped everything and focused on you."

"Mmmmmm," Bobby said, his eyelids starting to droop. "I like it when you focus on me. And I like focusing on you …"

"Looks like you're too tired to focus on much of anything," Alex said with a grin. "I think it's time you got some sleep. I'll just sit here with you while you nap."

"OK … I like knowing you're here," he said softly. Then he yawned and rolled onto his back, and his eyes slid closed.

Alex smiled, leaned over and kissed his cheek, then settled back into the chair, relaxed, her hand on his arm.

A few hours later, he was dozing, with Alex keeping watch, when Logan and Barek appeared in the doorway. Mike cleared his throat, and Alex turned toward them.

"Hi, guys," she said, a smile brightening her tired features. "Come on in."

"Hey," Mike said quietly, passing her a 20-ounce cup of coffee. With a nod toward the patient, he asked, "How's the big guy?"

"Very lucky," Alex said, shaking her head. "He got hit with a gardening shovel, but there's no skull fracture, just a mild concussion. And a slight wrist sprain."

Mike frowned. "Which wrist?"

"The right one, thank goodness." Alex pulled down the blanket so they could see the Ace bandage wrapped snugly around Bobby's right wrist and hand.

"Damn! He shoots free throws right-handed," Mike said. "Most other things he can do with either hand, but he needs to be able to knock down his free throws."

"Mike," Alex said sharply. "He's got a concussion. He's got 23 stitches. I don't think he's going to feel like playing basketball for a while."

Mike grinned at her wickedly. "Before you go making assumptions, give him a night to sleep this off. Then see what he says in the morning."

Alex frowned. Looking at Carolyn for support, she got a shrug. "He IS a guy, Alex. When it comes to sports, they don't always do what they're supposed to."

"Well, maybe I'll have a say in that," Alex retorted. Then she sighed and shook her head. "But I have to admit, at work he pushes himself too hard. I guess I shouldn't be surprised if he's no different about basketball."

Mike brightened. "Hey, don't worry, Alex. Our next game, we play a cream puff. Maybe we can convince him he should sit out the easy game and heal up for the following week, when we'll really need him."

Alex looked him in the eye. "Mike, if you help me get him to lay off basketball until he's really healthy again, dinner for four is on me."

Mike and Carolyn both grinned. "Just what I love," Carolyn said. "A conspiracy!"


	19. Quick Recovery

**Chapter 19: Quick Recovery**

Clad in blue jeans and tennis shoes, Bobby was pulling a black T-shirt over his head when Alex knocked softly and slipped into the room.

"The nurse has all of your discharge forms. You just need to sign them on the way out," she said as she watched him slide the hem of the tee down his chest and shrug into a blue- and green-checkered flannel shirt. With a snarky grin, she added, "You look like you're ready to chop down a tree."

"You don't like this shirt?"

She took two steps toward him, encircled him with her arms and hugged him warmly. "On the contrary, I love it! I think the lumberjack look is very sexy," she said, smiling up at him.

"Better be careful there," he said, with a glint in his eye. "After a good night's rest, my strength is flooding back. You might find you've got your hands full when we get back to my place."

"I hope so," she said with a laugh. Then she paused. "Seriously, though, Bobby, the doctor said to take it easy for at least a week, so you really should be careful."

"A few days, maybe, but no way am I going to be lazing around for a whole week. We've got a game Friday night."

"Robert O. Goren, you are NOT playing in that basketball game Friday night!"

"Why not? I should be at full speed by then."

"And what if you're in a collision or you get smacked in the head going for a rebound?"

"Awww, c'mon, Eames. I'll be fine. There's nothing to worry about." Bobby had to admit, the dark look on Alex's face was making him uneasy. "At least keep an open mind about it. Let's see how I do as the week goes on. I think you'll be amazed at how quickly I can recover."

Thinking the best move was a temporary retreat to round up reinforcements, Alex gave a little nod. "OK, I'll keep an open mind. But you do the same, buster. I don't want any medical complications. A hospital bed is too small for the two of us."

Bobby grinned. He couldn't help agreeing with that.

A few minutes later they were on their way back to Bobby's apartment. As Alex drove, she cast the occasional sideways glance at her partner, trying to get a read on how he really felt. He was quiet as he stared blankly out the window, seemingly unaware of businesspeople, tourists and troublemakers bustling along Lafayette. They rode in silence until they were halfway across the bridge.

"Earth to Bobby," Alex said as she kept her eyes on the traffic. "What's going on in that battered head of yours?"

Bobby blinked and rubbed a hand across his face. "Just thinking about our cases. Patterson's and ours, that is. I suppose he's still pissed off at me."

"You care what he thinks?"

"Not really. I blew it, but so did he. I have to admit, though, Joey is a resourceful kid. How he got away with so many of our people on the scene is beyond me."

"Do you think his mental disability is exaggerated?"

"No, he's definitely slow," Bobby said, biting his lip as he considered his words. "But he has good survival instincts, and he knows his turf."

"And he has help."

"Right," Bobby said, nodding. "What he said his dad told him – he could come back when things cooled off – confirms there is a deliberate effort to protect him, though we can't be sure his family knows he's guilty of murder. They might just think they're doing what they have to because he's an easy target, a convenient scapegoat."

"Well, they have to know he's guilty now … at least of assaulting a police officer," Alex pointed out.

"Yes, and if Patterson turns up any evidence that they are helping him elude us, he can bring them in. And if they're no longer in a position to help Joey, it could force him into the open."

"Well, whatever happens, we need to keep our distance. Now that we know their killer and ours are two different people, we should focus on our own case."

Bobby smiled. "Trying to keep me out of trouble, Eames?"

"It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it," Alex replied with a smirk. Her partner's laughter turned the snark into a genuine smile. He did seem to be bouncing back quickly.

Ten minutes later, they were in Bobby's living room. He settled into the couch and let her prepare some chicken noodle soup, grilled cheese sandwiches and iced tea. As she set the tray on the coffee table and dropped down beside him, he pulled her in for a quick kiss and a hug. "Thanks, Nurse Eames," he said with a soft smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Caressing his cheek, she smiled up at him. "Thanks for letting me help. It makes me feel good too."

"I guess I've learned a little something in the past several months," Bobby mused. "I used to run from people when I needed help. But this summer I wouldn't have made it without you and Mike and Carolyn, and I knew it. I'm so glad you guys were there for me. It's something I won't forget."

Alex dipped her head bashfully and then looked up at him. "We care about you, Bobby. We were just doing what comes naturally."

Bobby's eyes danced playfully, and he ran his index finger along her arm. "Well, guess what comes naturally to me when I'm sitting with you here on my couch?"

"Hmmmm, eating?" she said as she pulled away with a smile. "I'm starved! And you have no business straining yourself until you're stronger."

Bobby gave her a mock frown as he turned and picked up his grilled cheese. "OK, OK. But if you keep feeding me like this, I'm going to get stronger real fast."

"I'm counting on it," she replied cheerfully.

The next morning Bobby was up and getting dressed when Alex stirred and began trying to shake out the cobwebs. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked between yawns.

"To work. Coffee's on, but you have time to get another 10 minutes if you want."

Alex was shaking her head. "Bobby, no. You have a concussion and you need to rest."

"I did rest. I rested overnight in the hospital, and I rested last night – much better than in the hospital," he said, flashing a grin. "It's the middle of the week already, and we have a case to solve."

Alex was glaring. "Bobby …"

"Please, Alex. I don't want the trail to go cold. I promise I will take it easy. I might not even work a whole day. If I feel tired, I'll go lie down in the crib for a while."

Alex wavered, and her uncertain expression told Bobby he was going to win the argument. He sat down next to her on the bed and took her hand. "I promise," he said, looking into her eyes and wearing his most innocent boyish look.

Alex sighed. "OK, you win. But I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"Good!" he said with a laugh, and he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I like that plan."

Ross was surprised to see Goren back at his desk, but a slight smile and a shrug from Eames told him not to bother making a big fuss. "Make it a short day, Detective," he said simply. Bobby met his eyes, nodded and went back to studying Saunders' financial records.

"You're zeroing in on the boyfriend," Ross noted as he glanced at the name on the printout from the credit card company in Bobby's hands.

"We think he's the most likely suspect for now," Alex told him. "The husband has been very cooperative. He didn't bat an eye when we asked for access to his apartment while he was away."

"Guilty man would probably have demanded that you wait till he could be there – or get a search warrant. And you don't have grounds," Ross analyzed.

"Right. He's clearly devastated about his wife's death. And I saw no evidence of a guilty mind," Bobby added.

"What about the business partners?"

"We've got their records too. Nothing unusual so far. If there's a financial motive, we haven't found it yet, but we'll check thoroughly," Alex said. "If there's something personal, well, neither of us got that vibe when we questioned them."

"OK. Let me know if you find anything significant. The chief of D's is pretty antsy about this one. I'd like to be able to report some progress."

"Sure, Captain," Bobby acknowledged.

As Ross walked away, Bobby resumed his examination of the credit card information. Running his finger down the list of charges, he stopped, smiled and scribbled something in his binder.

"Want to share with the class, Bobby?" Alex asked.

"What would we do without Richard?" he said with a glint in his eye. "A good manservant is so hard to find. He could help solve this case."

"Does this have something to do with the Tahoe?"

"He takes excellent care of his boss's favorite set of wheels. Looks like he had the vehicle fully serviced before he drove it to Connecticut."

"Hmmm. I'll bet the shop is first rate …"

"With complete records …"

"Including mileage," Alex finished with a smile. "You checked his odometer, didn't you?"

Bobby grinned. "Fifteen thousand two hundred eighty-two and three-tenths."

"Now all we need is a subpoena, and we should be able to prove opportunity," Alex said triumphantly. "And we just might have grounds for one."

Bobby cocked his head. "You found something too?"

"How about motive? Remember Saunders saying they were working on a deal for exercise equipment? The spa's records show a down payment for a full complement of machines and weights, to be delivered to the new location a week before the opening date," she told him, handing over a copy of the receipt. "And it isn't to Saunders' company. It looks as if she decided on a more tried-and-true brand."

"Or her partners did."

"Regardless, she must have agreed to it. There's a much smaller order for Saunders' brand of cross country skiing machines. The consolation prize," Alex said, handing across another sheet of paper.

"Not much consolation for a guy who was hoping to get a foot in the door of every rich woman with an exercise room at home."

A smirk crossed Alex's face. "Guess he's not as irresistible to women as he wants us to believe."

"Leslie still liked him, though. She was all set for a hot date that night. She hadn't picked up on his anger at being cut out of the business deal."

"Maybe she didn't realize he knew yet. He could have learned from another source."

"Someone at the conference, maybe?" Bobby mused. "A company rep, bragging about a big new deal with possibilities for expansion, dropping the Kensington name?"

"So maybe the decision to kill her was sort of spur-of-the-moment?"

"Yeah. He finds out; he's enraged; he hatches a plan. He calls her, sets up a late night date, short notice so the partners don't know, tells Richard he's headed for the slopes – as originally planned – and instead comes back to New York. Kills her, makes it look like a robbery and drives back to the conference."

"No wonder poor Jake was so exhausted."

"Yeah, because in addition to all that, I think he might have gone shopping along the way."

"Shopping?" Alex asked, baffled. "Surely he didn't use the credit card."

"No, he's too smart for that. I'll bet he paid cash."

"For what?"

"The murder weapon."


	20. Familiar Foe

**I hope this provides some extra fun for our Mike fans as well as our Bobby fans.**

**Chapter 20: Familiar Foe**

Carolyn was the first to notice someone was missing. As the 1PP team warmed up, she counted heads and came up short. Ticking the players' names off on her fingers, she realized they were short in more ways than one. "Kramer's not here," she said, nudging Alex and nodding toward the court.

"Hmmm. Wonder where he is," Alex said, frowning and looking around.

A 1PP fan sitting nearby overheard. "He's got stakeout duty tonight. They're shorthanded, and he couldn't get out of it."

"Will that be a problem?" Alex asked Carolyn. "I thought the Staten Island team was supposed to be a cream puff."

"Yeah, Mike said they've got a couple of tall guys but they are slow and don't shoot well. I guess as long as he hits his shots, we should be fine."

"Good, because I don't think Bobby's up to this tonight."

"Has he been overdoing it at the office … or at home?" Carolyn asked with a little grin.

Alex laughed. "He's been very well-behaved at home, but only because I won't let him misbehave. Work is another matter. We've got our quarry all but bagged in the Kensington case, but it's taken a lot of brain work: financial records, auto shop records, sales record requests for every store that handles sporting goods between here and Cornwall, Connecticut."

"Wow, I hope all that effort bore some fruit."

"More like a smoking gun, we hope. Or a smoking 20-pound weight."

"The murder weapon?"

"Yes, Bobby had noticed that it looked new and most of the other equipment at the spa was a little worn. Since we believe our killer drove in the evening of the murder and had limited planning time, we think he stopped along the way and bought it. And we think we've narrowed the field to three stores. We've got their surveillance tapes being overnighted to us," Alex explained.

Then she sighed and shook her head, pushing a lock of hair back behind her ear. "But even though we've been pretty much deskbound, the effort has worn him out. I'm actually hoping the change of scenery tonight will perk him up a little."

"Any chance Coach Hunter will let him play?"

"I hope not," Alex said emphatically. "A hard hit could be bad for his head."

"Still, his doctor cleared him for duty."

"You know Bobby. He can be very persuasive," Alex said with a frustrated shrug. "He's bounced back really fast, but he's not fully recovered. I hope he'll use some sense for a change and keep his butt planted on the bench."

Just then, a ball grazed Jeff Stanley's fingertips and rolled across the midcourt line toward where Staten Island was warming up. Mike chased it down and found himself face to face with a familiar figure from his years of banishment to the island.

"Well, well. If it isn't Mike Logan," said the burly, square-jawed player in green and white who was flipping the stray ball back and forth in his hands.

"Hi, Shanahan. Long time …"

"Yeah, no see, Logan. I'm surprised to find you in uniform, representing your unit."

"Well, I didn't plan on it, but they talked me into it."

"Funny, we never could get you on the court for a real game when you were on the island. Pickup ball was as far as you would go."

"Yeah, well, a lot has changed since then," Mike said with a shrug.

Shanahan stared at him. "I guess so. Major Case, 1PP basketball. You're big time now. Maybe we just weren't good enough for you."

"Hey, c'mon. I'm no golden boy. I'm just trying to do my job and have a little fun in my spare time."

"Yeah, sure, Logan." Shanahan shoved the ball against his chest, turned and walked away.

Mike's eyes narrowed as he watched the retreating back. I hope this doesn't get ugly tonight, he thought. Then he shrugged. There's nothing they can dish out that I can't take. He dribbled back to the 1PP side of the court, a slight frown on his face.

A few minutes later, the teams were lined up for the tipoff. Frankie Lester and Logan were in the backcourt, with Jim Mitchell at small forward, Stanley at power forward and Slim Barnett at center. Barnett, at 6-6, was the only 1PP player over 6-2. Staten Island went 6-8, 6-7, 6-5 across the frontcourt. Coach Hunter didn't like the size mismatch, but he was counting on speed, shooting and all-around athleticism to pull 1PP through. Still, his stomach felt a little uneasy.

The referee tossed the ball in the air, and the Islanders' center easily outjumped Barnett and tipped it toward a teammate. But Lester snatched it away before it could reach the intended target. A quick pass to Mike, a smooth shot, and 1PP was up 2-0. Coach Hunter let his breath out and nodded approval. We are better than these guys, he thought, even without Goren and Kramer.

Sure enough, 1PP quickly built a 10-2 lead. But the Islanders refused to quit. Their advantage in the paint paid off repeatedly as they grabbed the rebounds after their own poor shots and kept putting the ball back up on the glass. On one possession, they missed three shots, got all three rebounds, missed a layup and finally scored on a dunk. Coach Hunter jumped up from his seat. "Fight for those boards!" he hollered at Slim as he ran back down the court.

Bobby squirmed on the bench, frustrated that he couldn't help. Hunter had already told him he would be a spectator for the night, but Bobby kept glancing his way, wondering if the coach would waver in light of 1PP's lack of rebounds. He knew he'd have hell to pay with Alex if he got into the game and got hurt, but he didn't like what he was seeing.

The Islanders slowly clawed their way back into the game, cutting the lead to six, then four and then making a three-point play when the center was fouled on a dunk.

It didn't help that Shanahan was muscling Mike up and down the floor, bumping him at every opportunity. Also, the Islanders were double-teaming him every time the ball was passed his way. He was having a hard time getting good shots, and when he passed to an open teammate, the result was often an errant shot and a Staten Island rebound. On just such a play, the Islanders raced upcourt, hit a layup and took the lead 27-26 with less than a minute to go in the half. Hunter slammed a towel on the floor in frustration. But still he didn't look Bobby's way.

Stanley flipped the ball inbounds to Lester, who spotted Mike alone near the free-throw line. Staten Island had been a little slow getting back on defense, and he was wide open. Lester fired the ball the length of the court, and Mike took it to the hoop, but as he went up to put the ball on the glass, a sprinting Shanahan arrived. They collided in midair and came down hard, and Mike stayed down, holding his left ankle and grimacing as the ref whistled a foul.

The trainer and Coach Hunter were off the bench in a hurry, trotting to where Mike was sitting, and Bobby wasn't far behind. "Hey, buddy, how bad is it?" Bobby asked anxiously as the trainer felt around the rapidly swelling ankle and began unlacing Mike's shoe.

"Bad enough. Damn!" Mike said, wincing, as the rest of his teammates gathered around him. "Hey, don't take my shoe off. I'll never get it back on."

"You're not going to need it tonight," the trainer said, shaking his head. "The only thing on this ankle the rest of the night will be an ice pack and an Ace bandage."

Mike slapped the floor in anger. Around him, faces turned glum and shoulders sagged.

"We'll get that guy for you, Mike," Jimbo said quietly.

"No way!" Mike told him before Coach Hunter could even open his mouth. "It was a hard hit, but he was just trying to prevent an easy bucket. This injury was a fluke, just bad luck. You guys need to pull together and win this game."

"He's right, men," Hunter said, looking around and meeting their eyes. "We've got a battle on our hands, and we can't afford to lose it if we want that championship. These guys are bruisers. They play tough but not dirty. We need to forget about payback and focus on what we have to do to win."

Bobby gave the coach a hopeful, questioning look, but Hunter quickly turned away. He didn't want to be tempted any more than he already was. Bobby's shoulders drooped. He was hungry to get into the game, and he knew the team needed help. All thoughts of what Alex might say were forgotten. He helped his buddy up and supported him as he limped back to the bench, and he never even glanced up in the stands, where the 1PP fans were on their feet, Carolyn with a fist at her mouth and Alex wearing a dark frown.

Mike's replacement, Teddy Gregg, made one of two free throws, but the Islanders scored at the buzzer to take a 29-27 lead at the half. Mike had 18 of 1PP's points, and with him out of the game, Staten Island's confidence was soaring.

"This doesn't look good," Alex said, shaking her head. "How are we going to keep up with them with Mike hurt?"

"I don't know, but if we lose this game because Mike can't play, he's going to be miserable," Carolyn replied.

"So will Bobby," Alex pointed out, worry furrowing her brow.

In the locker room, Bobby paced as Coach Hunter huddled with his assistant, considering strategy for their depleted team in the second half. Finally he could contain himself no longer. Marching up to them, he looked Hunter right in the eyes. "Coach, you gotta put me in. We're getting killed on the boards."

Hunter sighed. "Bobby, I can't do that. You're only five days post-concussion. You take a fall, and you could do some real damage."

"I won't fall, Coach. I promise I won't take any charges. I'll be careful in traffic. I don't have to bang with them that much if I get good position. Slim's gotta have some help inside, and nobody else is even close to their size."

Hunter bit his lip. He didn't want to jeopardize Bobby's health, but it was hard to say no to the plea in those deep brown eyes.

"At least give him a chance, Coach," Frankie Lester said. "If he tries anything crazy, you can yank him out of the game."

"Please, Coach," Bobby urged desperately. "I'm cleared for duty, so I've gotta be cleared for basketball too. Let me help."


	21. Back in Action

**Chapter 21: Back in Action**

Wearing an NYPD sweatsuit and with his ankle heavily bandaged, Mike hobbled out of the dressing room on crutches as the rest of the team warmed up for the second half. He settled awkwardly with his leg up on the bench, and the trainer formed another ice pack around the ankle. Carolyn and Alex, returning from the concession stand with popcorn and drinks, headed his way.

With furrowed brow, Carolyn eyed the damaged ankle. "How serious is it?"

"Too soon to tell," Mike said, shaking his head and reaching for a handful of the popcorn she was carrying. "But we're hoping that with ice and elevation, we can keep it from swelling too much. I'll need to have a doctor look at it tomorrow. But I guarantee you it's not going to keep me out long. We're too close to the championship now for me to miss out."

Carolyn shook her head. "I know that would be a terrible disappointment, but you have to do what's best for your health."

"If I can run at all, I'll play. Simple as that," Mike said, looking her in the eyes. Then he shifted his gaze to the court, as his teammates filled the net with practice shots. "I just wish I could run tonight."

Carolyn and Alex exchanged glances. "Men," Carolyn huffed. Ignoring her comment, Mike dug another hand into the popcorn tub. "Mmmmm. This stuff is pretty good," he said.

"That guy who hit you, he's been after you all night," Alex pointed out. "We noticed how he was trying to push you around."

"Shanahan? He was in my squad on the island. He's intense, hates to lose. He's not a great player, so he is extra physical, trying to even things up. But at least he doesn't play dirty."

"You don't call that collision dirty?" Alex asked incredulously.

"Nope. Alex, if he had really wanted to hurt me, he would have undercut me – hit me in the lower part of my legs while I was up in the air. That would have caused a dangerous fall. He'll do whatever he can to win, but he wouldn't deliberately try to hurt me. It was just an unlucky break that I landed funny on my ankle. The truth is I respect the guy. That desire to win is what champions are made of." Then Mike added with a smirk, "Of course, you need a little talent to go along with it, which we have and he doesn't."

Alex's eyes wandered back to the court and found Bobby just as he drove hard to the basket, leaped and laid the ball against the glass. As it dropped through the net, he turned away and gave a quick little fist jab into the air. Then he hustled to a spot about six feet from the basket, took a pass from a teammate and flicked a little jump shot into the net. Alex's eyes narrowed.

"Bobby sure seems fired up," she mused, taking a sip of her Coke without losing sight of her partner. He was at the free-throw line, and she watched him attempt two shots. The first bounced off the front of the rim, but the second rolled around and dropped through. Bobby nodded and flexed his right wrist. Alex noticed that the Ace bandage he had been wearing was gone, replaced by a tight wrapping of white tape. And suddenly she knew.

Whirling, she looked at Mike. "Bobby's going to play, isn't he?" she said, with equal parts anger and fear in her voice.

Mike stared right back at her. "He has to."

"What do you mean 'has to'? He has a concussion!"

"He'll be OK, Alex. Give him a chance. He won't do anything crazy. And he just might be the difference in winning or losing tonight."

"Mike, it's only a basketball game," Alex said, frustration dripping from her words. "He has no business risking his health."

"That's his decision. He wants to do this."

"You promised to help," Alex scolded. "Remember? Dinner for four?"

"I said I'd try to talk him out of wasting his effort on a cream puff. But everything's changed. With Kramer and me out, he's our best hope. If we lose this one, we lose our shot at the championship."

"It's not worth his health!"

"Trust me, Alex. This is about more than basketball. You may not understand, but you need to back his play on this, OK?"

Alex frowned but fell silent. She was his partner and wouldn't let him down, but she didn't have to like it. Mike allowed himself a little smile. "Hey, Carolyn, how about a sip of that Coke?"

A few minutes later, the partners were settled in the stands, and the second half began. Bobby immediately made his presence felt, slicing inside as Jimbo tossed up a jump shot from the right corner and corralling the rebound when it clanged off the rim. He flipped the ball back outside to Lester, who fed Teddy Gregg on the left wing for another shot. Again, the ball bounced off the rim, but Bobby had shifted his position and grabbed that rebound too. This time, when he came down with the ball, he went right back up and put it in off the glass. Tie game, 29-29.

The lead seesawed for most of the second half. Without Mike, 1PP wasn't hitting its outside shots. But Bobby had evened up the battle on the boards. Neither team seemed to be able to score from more than eight feet, but layups were in abundance, including one by Slim Barnett and three by Bobby in the last three minutes.

With the game tied at 55 and the clock winding down, Shanahan spun away from his man and drove the lane. Bobby saw him slip free and normally would have glided into position to take a charge. But remembering his promise, he charted a path to meet Shanahan closer to the basket instead. The Islander launched himself into the air and floated a shot toward the front of the rim. Bobby jumped as high as he could, and just before the ball reached the top of its arc, he swatted it away. Lester chased it down and fired to Gregg as he streaked to the other end of the floor for an uncontested basket that gave 1PP a 57-55 lead. The Islanders' point guard tried a half-court shot at the buzzer, but it fell short. 1PP had survived.

The players mobbed one another at center court, but they were careful not to rough up Bobby. Slim put an arm around his shoulders, and Frankie Lester patted him on the rear. Coach Hunter gave him a hug, and Mike grinned at him while safely hovering on his crutches a few feet from his exuberant teammates.

In the bleachers, the 1PP fans were going crazy too, and Carolyn and Alex joined in the clapping and cheering. Relief washed over Alex as she reassured herself that Bobby had made it safely through the game. Still, she couldn't help feeling annoyed. He shouldn't have taken the chance, she thought. This wasn't worth the risk, and he's going to get an earful from me about it.

Just then she felt a tap on her shoulder. "That was quite a second half your partner played, especially considering what he's been through this week," Ross said, smiling. "We needed a hero tonight, and he sure came through."


	22. What It's All About

**Chapter 22: What It's All About**

On the ride home, the women were quiet while the men chattered excitedly. Carolyn was amused at Mike's frivolity, relieved that he felt cheerful despite his injury. Alex was still annoyed but had decided not to scold Bobby until they had some privacy.

"Just two more wins, buddy, and we're champions," Mike said with a huge grin as he lounged in the back seat of the SUV. "Thanks to you."

"Me? I didn't do anything special," Bobby said bashfully. "I'm just glad to be part of the team."

"You were way more than just part of the team tonight. You won the game for us."

"That's crazy, Mike. Everybody played extra hard because you weren't out there in the second half. We all had to do everything we could to pick up the slack."

"Give yourself some credit, Bobby. That was a rugged game, especially inside the lane. We needed you out there tonight more than we needed me. And that final block – that was a thing of beauty."

"Usually I would take a charge there, but I was being careful," Bobby said, with a hopeful glance at Alex. He hadn't failed to notice her tight-lipped silence as she drove to Mike's apartment, and he was disappointed to see no change in her expression. He had a feeling he was going to be in trouble after they dropped off Mike and Carolyn.

"Well, maybe you ought to try for the block more often. Especially when you can tip it toward our guys and set up the winning basket, like you did tonight."

"I didn't want to knock it out of bounds and give them another shot."

"So it wasn't an accident," Mike said triumphantly. "I knew it. Bobby, that's damned impressive not only to block the shot but to direct where it goes."

Bobby shrugged, embarrassed at the praise. "I saw Lester out of the corner of my eye. I thought if I could just get it close to him, he'd do the rest. And he did."

"I'll tell you something else, buddy," Mike said, leaning forward to catch Bobby's eyes. "Half your arm was above the rim when you made that block."

Bobby shook his head. "No, that can't be right. I can't jump that high."

"You can do a helluva lot more than you think you can, Bobby. Have you ever tried to dunk?"

That drew a laugh. "Sure, on an eight-foot basket."

"C'mon, Bobby, I'm serious. Did you ever try? Maybe back in high school?"

"My coach thought dunks were selfish."

"So, of course, you accepted that."

"Well, they are kind of showy," Bobby said lamely.

"Sure, they're showy. They make a statement. They can demoralize the other team and swing the momentum of the game."

"But if you miss one, everybody laughs at you," Bobby pointed out. "And it swings momentum the wrong way."

"If you know you're going to make it, you make it. It's about believing in yourself, Bobby."

Shifting in his seat, Bobby cleared his throat and mumbled something incomprehensible.

Alex glanced sideways at him. She had been listening, and her curiosity was piqued. She was starting to understand what Mike was driving at and was fascinated at Bobby's reaction. He had always had confidence in his skills as a detective, but he seemed to have trouble finding that confidence in other areas. Maybe if he could learn to do it in sports, she thought, he could transfer it to the rest of his life. Maybe all this really is about more than basketball.

"Just think about it, buddy," Mike said as he opened the door and maneuvered the crutches to get out. "Think about how it would feel to fly and then jam." Mike winked at him, nodded at Alex and slid out of the seat. Carolyn helped steady him as his right foot found the sidewalk and his left gingerly followed. Soon he had the crutches positioned, and after a chorus of "g'nights," the couple disappeared into the building.

As Alex drove away, a silence settled over the SUV. Bobby looked out the window at the darkened, slushy streets, illuminated by the occasional bodega, liquor store or corner streetlight. When five minutes passed without a word, he stole a glance at her. She didn't look terribly angry, just thoughtful. He leaned forward and punched a few buttons on the radio, picking out one of her favorite stations for the ride back to Brooklyn. Soft, easy listening music filled the air, the kind that can relax you after a jarring day. A brief smile ghosted across her features. He's playing me, she thought, but in a nice way. He knows I know his game.

When they reached Bobby's street, Alex parked and they went upstairs. Bobby didn't even have to ask; he liked that. The more familiar the routine of staying together became, the happier he was. Now, if only he could weather the tongue-lashing he feared he was in for …

"How about a beer?" he asked as they shed their coats just inside his door. "OK," she replied, and he headed to the kitchen. Returning with two opened bottles, he found her settled on the couch. "Pizza?" she asked, phone in hand. "Yeah, I'm starved." She dialed their favorite spot and ordered a large pepperoni, sausage and mushroom with extra cheese to be delivered. A hungry Bobby could handle at least half of a large, loaded pizza, and any leftovers would come in handy at lunch.

Plopping down beside her, Bobby kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table next to hers. He rested his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands, one free and the other safely bandaged again. The bottle dangled from his long fingers. He studied the amber liquid and pushed at the corner of the label with his left thumb. Finally, he took a deep breath. "Just how much trouble am I in here?"

She lifted her head from the back of the couch and looked at him. His head was bowed as he stared at the beer. She sighed. "I was pissed. Very pissed. Scared. You could have been badly hurt."

"But I wasn't. I was careful," he said, finding hope in her use of the past tense.

"Careful or not, you could have been," she said, keeping her voice quiet and even, but her eyes boring into him. She really did want to understand, but she wanted him to understand too. "It's one thing to get hurt doing our jobs, but to risk serious injury just for a basketball game?"

"It's not just a basketball game," he said, turning to meet her eyes. He shook his head. "It's way more than that."

"You mean macho posturing? Proving to everyone how tough you are?" This time there was an edge to her voice. He winced, but he paused, looking for an honest answer. "Maybe. There might be some of that. Playing a sport is partly about proving yourself."

"Hmpf!" she said with a hint of triumph and a scolding edge. "Playing with a serious injury is just proving how stupid you can be."

He paused, shifting gears. "Why do you run?" he asked.

"To be healthy," she said, startled but comfortable that she was on firm ground. "It helps me stay in shape. I can eat what I want and know I won't get fat. I can do my job better."

"And why do you run marathons?" he asked, with that look she had seen a thousand times in interrogation. That "gotcha" look.

She stumbled. "Uhh, to check my fitness. I wouldn't do it if I were injured or not up to it."

He shook his head, but his eyes never left hers, and she could see the gleam in them. "You and I both know that there is nothing healthy about running a marathon. It's totally exhausting. It breaks down your muscle tissue. It takes days, even weeks, to recover. You do it because it's a challenge. Because most people can't. It's a way for you to separate yourself from the pack."

She frowned. "Still, I wouldn't risk severe damage. If I were hurt I wouldn't run."

He smiled. "OK, what if you are a little under the weather when Boston comes around? You've trained all winter; you've run your partner ragged; now you're in Boston, and you can feel a cold coming on or something like that."

"A cold is not a big deal."

"It is if you wear yourself out running 26 miles in chilly weather. You could get pneumonia."

"Come on, Bobby. I wouldn't get pneumonia."

"How do you know?"

She shook her head, annoyed. "I just know. I'm healthy. I'd bounce back quickly."

He nodded. "You wouldn't let a little cold mess up what you worked all winter for, what you set as a goal years ago. What meant so much that you haven't told anyone but your partner, not even your family. You'd put yourself at risk to realize that dream."

"Bobby, that's not fair. You're talking hypotheticals, and I can't defend myself. If I felt really bad, I wouldn't run."

"So it's a question of degree."

"Yeah."

"You'd weigh the risks against the rewards."

"Exactly."

"So did I."

Alex sighed heavily, shoulders sagging. "You're impossible."

"I know," he said, nodding seriously, with an innocent look in his chocolate brown eyes.

She frowned, but she could feel her objections slipping away. How could she stay mad at him when he looked like that? "So it's more than a macho thing. It really means that much to you."

He ducked his head a little, nodding again. Clearing his throat, he said quietly, "More than I ever thought it would. Basketball ended badly for me when I was in high school. I never thought I'd get another chance to play on a team, play for a championship. Now that I've got that second chance, I don't want to let it get away." He smiled shyly. "It's kind of nice to hear those cheers too. I'm used to being stared at, jeered at and poked fun of. Being called a hero feels kind of good."

Alex rubbed his forearm and then leaned over and kissed him just above his elbow.

She gazed up at him, a serious look in her eyes, and started rubbing his arm again. "What happened in high school?" she asked.

He met her eyes, and she saw a deep sadness there. He hesitated, then started to speak. Just then, the doorbell rang. "Pizza's here," he said, relief washing over his face.


	23. Pillow Talk

**Chapter 23: Pillow Talk**

A sliver of light from the street slipped through a gap in the bedroom curtains and softly illuminated the lumpy tangle of sheets near the foot of the bed. Bobby awakened to chilly air and felt Alex shiver in his arms. Carefully extricating himself, he reached to pull up the sheets, along with the blanket that had tumbled to the floor during their lovemaking hours earlier. Securing the covers around them, he settled back in and pulled Alex into his arms again. She snuggled against his chest and yawned, but instead of falling back asleep as she usually did, she raised her head a few inches and looked at him.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily.

He looked over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. "It's about 4:30. Go back to sleep, babe. We don't have to get up for a couple of hours."

"Mmmmm. It's Saturday. We don't have to get up at all."

Bobby smiled in the dark. She was more lucid than he had thought. Usually she slept deeply and was a bear to wake up. And heaven help you if you said much before she had her coffee. "It's up to you. We can do our running early or late."

Alex yawned again and tried to shake out a few cobwebs. "After the game and the pizza and our little wrestling match, you still have the energy to run this morning?"

He grinned. "For you, anything."

She ran her fingers softly over his belly and looked up at him again. "Anything?"

His grin widened, and he began caressing her back, up and down her spine. "Anything."

"Actually, that 'anything' wasn't what I had in mind," she said, shifting a bit as his touch made her shiver again. She raised up and ran her fingers along the scruff of his cheek. "I was wondering if you would tell me about high school. The pizza interrupted us."

Bobby frowned. He had hoped she would drop it, but clearly that wasn't going to happen. He had put her off earlier, saying he didn't want bad memories to upset his digestion. They had turned on the TV and devoured most of the pizza, and then Bobby had begun tickling her, prompting a playful wrestling match that soon led them to the bedroom. More energy was expended there, and exhausted, they drifted off to sleep. But now that the cool night air had awakened them, it seemed there was no escape from his past.

He sighed. She resumed caressing his stomach and waited patiently for him to find the words.

"You know h-how I've said I only played junior varsity in high school?"

"Yes, you said you quit after that."

"Well, it wasn't entirely true. I played two games for the varsity my sophomore year."

Two games. What difference did that make? She looked up at him blankly.

"The jayvees have a shorter season. If the varsity is going to the playoffs, sometimes a coach will promote a few of his better players from the jayvees to give the team some extra depth."

"So you were one of the better players."

He smiled sardonically. "Yeah, I guess so. I was tall anyway. I shot up to 6-4 the summer before my sophomore year, and boy, was I awkward for the first few months of the season."

"You were still growing into your body. That's normal."

"Well, things got better as the season went on. By the end of the year, I was pretty much dominating the jayvee guys. Our varsity was good, but they were a little lacking in big guys."

"Kind of like 1PP."

"Exactly. They needed some rebounding help if they were going to get far in the playoffs. Coach said if I had been as smooth at the beginning of the season as I was at the end, I would have been on the varsity the whole time."

Alex propped her head up on her elbow, intrigued as Bobby opened up about his younger days. She knew this story was going to end badly, and she wanted to see his eyes as he told it.

"My first game was the last game of the regular season. It wasn't a really strong opponent, so the coach kept me in most of the game to get used to the other guys." He paused. "I scored 23 points and had 17 rebounds. My best game of the year."

"Well, that was an impressive start!"

He smiled wistfully. "Not the best game ever for a Goren, though. Frank was a star. He played small forward, and he averaged 26 points his senior year. He even got a scholarship to St. John's, but he was already messing around with alcohol and drugs, and he washed out his freshman year. It's been downhill from there."

Alex ran her fingers along Bobby's bandaged wrist and hand, which were resting on his chest. She looked up at him again and waited for him to continue.

"I had been trying for two months to get my dad to come to a game, but he said jayvees were nothing. Frank never got stuck playing jayvee; he went straight to varsity. My dad said when I made varsity, he would come see me play. I told him I was going to play that game, but he didn't show up. When I told him how well I did, he laughed, as if he didn't believe me. I told him to come to the playoff game and I would prove I was good too, just like Frank. He said he would, just to call my bluff."

"But it wasn't a bluff. You really were good."

"I thought so at the time. But then I started to get nervous. What if the coach didn't play me? So I busted my butt in practice, hustling everywhere, taking charges, diving for loose balls, getting every rebound I could, all to prove I was ready to play at that level. I didn't want my dad to show up and watch me sit on the bench."

Bobby shifted a little and gazed at the ceiling, sorting through those painful memories. "Then it was game night. I was so on edge, full of nervous energy. Frank and my dad had both said they would be there. We came out to warm up, and there was no sign of them. I scored 12 in the first half and had nine rebounds. At halftime, still no sign of them. I felt sick with disappointment, but I tried to block it out. I told myself maybe they were up in some corner where I couldn't see them, but deep down, I knew they hadn't bothered to come. I finished with 21 points and 15 rebounds, and we won our first-round playoff game, but when it was over, I felt so empty inside. I knew then that if they didn't care enough to come to that game, when it meant so much to me, when I was playing a sport we all loved, they really didn't care about me at all."

Alex looked up at him, puzzled. "So you quit the team?"

Bobby barked a harsh laugh. "If only it were that simple." Then he stopped. Alex waited. Bobby sighed again. There was no getting around this. "When I got home, Mom was sitting on the couch, talking to herself. She was just mildly delusional for a change, so I settled her down and got her to go to bed. A little while later, Dad – who wasn't living with us anymore – brought Frank home. They both smelled of alcohol, and they were waving around handfuls of cash. Dad had gotten lucky in a poker game, and so of course they weren't going to interrupt his run of winning hands for a stupid thing like my basketball game."

Alex shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning down in frustration and disapproval. "What happened then?"

He smiled wistfully. "I said something snarky. You would have been proud. Something totally smartass about him being such a loser that he had to make the most of being a winner for one night, so of course his family didn't matter. But I guess he wasn't as drunk as he looked, because he punched me right in the jaw. Knocked me down. Then he kicked me, picked me up and started beating the hell out of me. His face was … purple … with rage."

"But you were big by then. Didn't you fight back?"

Bobby shook his head. "Whenever he hit me, I never hit him back. I didn't want to be like him. A-and he was my dad, or at least I thought so at the time. D-deep down, I still wanted him to care about me. So I just tried to cover up as best I could. Anyway, he kept driving me backward, and finally he shoved me, and I didn't realize the basement door was open, and I stumbled and fell down the stairs. Broke my ankle."

"Oh, Bobby," Alex exclaimed, horrified. Then she caressed his cheek. Her heart ached for that young boy, being hurt so badly by the people he loved.

"When I got to school Monday and Coach saw me on crutches with my face all bruised, he demanded to know what had happened. I told him I fell down the stairs. Nobody except Lewis knew what was going on at home, and I wanted to keep it that way. I was too ashamed to tell anyone."

"So that was the end of the season for you, but what about the next season?"

Bobby was quiet for several seconds. "There was no next season for me. That day, right in the middle of the hallway at school, Coach kinda went nuts on me. He demanded to know if I was drunk or on drugs when I fell down the stairs. He said I was just like my dad and my brother, that I had an opportunity and I threw it away because I'd rather get high than take care of my responsibilities. He said I could forget about ever playing for him again, that he wasn't going to waste his time on me like he had on Frank. He said Frank had shamed him and the whole school by letting drugs ruin his college career. He said I was going to end up just like him."

Bobby felt a deep ache in his chest and the sting of tears in his eyes. He blinked them back and looked away. Alex rested her head on his chest and resumed running her hand along his arm. For a long moment, neither said anything. Finally Alex broke the silence. "You couldn't win. If you told him what really happened, everyone would know the family secrets you were trying so desperately to hide. And if you said nothing, he and everyone else would believe you were behaving irresponsibly. Two crummy choices. It just wasn't fair!"

Alex's tone brought a sad smile to Bobby's face. "I wish you had been there to fight for me. You could have punched out the coach. Or my dad." His smile broadened. "Everything would have been better if I'd known you back then."

"I'll second that emotion," she said, matching his smile.

"Funny, but it didn't hurt as bad as I thought it would to talk about it with you."

"Your secrets are my secrets, Bobby. We can always share each other's burdens. Makes them lighter for both of us."

"Yeah, it does," he said thoughtfully. "Amazing the things I'm learning just from being in love."

They lay quietly for a few more minutes, enjoying each other's scent, matching each other's breathing, reveling in their intimacy.

"I'm glad I have you in my corner," he whispered as he caressed her hair.

"And I'm glad you're in mine," she murmured against his chest.

A moment later she raised her head and looked at him again. "Bobby, there's something else I was wondering about."

"What's that?"

"If I did get a cold right before Boston, what would you do?"

"I'd try to talk you out of running, just like you tried to keep me off the basketball court."

"Hmpf," she snorted. "I thought so."

Bobby slid a finger under her chin and lifted it so he could look in her eyes. "But I would listen to what you had to say. I would hear what your heart was telling me. If it was deep inside you that you just had to run, I would accept it. And I'd be there with the blankets and the NyQuil at the finish line."

She looked at him thoughtfully and nodded. "You really had to play last night."

"Yeah. It means that much to me. I had no headache and my vision was clear. I believed I was ready. If I had still been feeling the effects of the concussion, I would have stayed in street clothes. Yes, it was a little risky, but it was a calculated risk."

"You really could have been hurt."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"But you'd do it again."

"Yes, just like you'd risk running Boston."

"Yeah, I guess I would."

They fell silent again, and Bobby hugged Alex close to him. He felt the tension drain away as he let the past reclaim its memories and he savored the present: Alex – who wanted to share everything with him, who loved him no matter what terrible things she heard about his life – in his arms, breathing slowly and evenly. He felt at peace. Soon sleep claimed them both again.


	24. On the Trail

**Chapter 24: On the Trail**

The next morning Alex woke up to the rich smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Bobby, wearing gray sweatpants with the blue NYPD logo on the thigh, brought her a mug of the steaming liquid, thoroughly sweetened, and sat down on the bed, sipping his own mug.

"How do you feel this morning?" she asked after a few swallows helped her mind clear.

"Pretty good," he said with that smile she loved, the one he reserved for her. "I'm ready to play rabbit."

"Goren, I swear, I do not know where you get your energy," she said, returning his smile.

"If I had been as busy as you were last night, I would definitely have slept in this morning."

"I did," he said innocently. "It's after 8."

Alex could only roll her eyes and sigh.

An hour later they were well into their workout, running circuits at Prospect Park. Alex had circled the lake twice, with Bobby pushing her along the interior road for the first circuit and then on the outer Lake drives for the second. While he caught his breath, she expanded her route to Center Drive, circled the lake again and was joined by Bobby for another hard push up Center. Veering right, she left Bobby to rest while she made the loop around Long Meadow.

When she rejoined him, they turned back toward the lake. Bobby ran her hard along the interior road, waited for her to circle back and then did the exterior loop with her. At the finish, he was panting, with his hands on his thighs, while she ran in place. Shaking his head, he told her, "I think I'm sprinted out."

"That's OK," she said, tossing her head like a spirited thoroughbred and grinning at him. "Let's just run a regular pace for a while."

Bobby was content to run at her side, happy he could keep up with her pace and aware that the only reason was that she had run so much farther than he had.

When they got to the end of Center Drive again, Bobby expected to turn right, back toward the lake, but instead Alex turned left. "Uhhh, Alex, the Long Meadow circuit is more than two miles," he pointed out.

"You can do it, Goren," she said. "Just stick with me."

It wasn't easy, but Bobby hung on determinedly, making the full circuit as his muscles cried out in protest. When they completed it, Alex raised her hands in triumph and then grabbed Bobby in a bear hug. "Nice run, Goren."

Bobby couldn't help but grin at her enthusiasm, but he was huffing and puffing too hard to answer. Finally, as he got his breath back, he managed, "Run? That was torture!"

"Just a little payback for last night," she said, but her smirk told him she wasn't mad anymore. She grabbed his hand. "Enough hard running. Let's just jog and cool down."

They turned left again and slowly made their way back along the meadow. Before long they were walking, hand in hand. The cool air felt good after the hard run, and their breath came out in frosty mists. When they got to the Tennis House, they stopped for a few minutes, leaning against the columns as they enjoyed gazing at each other and feeling their healthy weariness. Bobby smiled and then laughed out loud.

"What?" Alex asked, puzzled.

He reached for her and pulled her against him. "I was just marveling that I could be so happy. I never thought I would experience anything like this in my whole life."

She smiled and slid her hands inside his sweatshirt, rubbing them up the back of his damp T-shirt. She rested her head against his chest and gave a contented sigh.

"This time last year, I was a complete mess," he mused. "Love really does heal."

She pulled back a little so she could look up into his eyes. "I love it when you say things like that."

He smiled back and pulled her in for a deep kiss. When they finally broke apart, Bobby smiled shyly at her. "You sure know how to keep me hungry for … exercise."

"Hmmm. Well, I'm hungry for breakfast first," she teased.

"OK, I'll buy."

As they resumed walking, Alex grabbed his hand again. "So, Bobby, have you ever thought about trying a marathon?"

"You've got to be kidding. I struggle with the 10Ks."

"You handled the last 10K easily. I think you could do it."

Bobby stopped and turned to her, his expression serious. "No way. It's not a question of what I can and can't do. At marathons, my job is to cheer for you."

Alex raised her eyebrows.

"Seriously. I mean it," he said, looking at her earnestly. "One of the best things for me about playing basketball is knowing that you are up in the stands cheering for me. It makes me feel 10 feet tall. And I want to be there cheering for you in Boston."

Alex looked at him cautiously. "You really want to go to Boston just to watch me run?"

"Yep," he confirmed with a broad smile. "I've studied the route, and I know how to get from place to place so I can yell for you at key spots. And of course, I will be there at the finish line. It's going to be awesome! I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Alex's eyes lit up, and she gave him a huge smile. "It'll be really special to share that with you."

They hugged again and then left the park with their arms around each other's waist.

It wasn't far to their favorite neighborhood diner, and they both dug into a stack of pancakes, with sausage and bacon on the side. A few more steaming cups of coffee, and the day was looking pretty bright. Then Bobby's cell phone chirped in the pocket of his sweatpants. "Goren."

He looked across at Alex and nodded. "OK, I'll contact Eames, and we'll be in shortly."

He closed the phone and looked up. "The tapes are at 1PP."

"I'm glad they waited until we finished breakfast," she said. "That training run left me starving."

Bobby dropped some cash on the table, they each took a last gulp of coffee, and it was time to leave. "Duty calls," Alex told Sandy, their regular waitress, as they headed out the door.

Within the hour they were showered, dressed and riding the elevator to the 11th floor at 1PP. Bobby was carrying his binder and the three packages that they had picked up from the mail room. All had been deemed safe to handle before the detectives were notified.

Entering the bullpen, they were greeted by the skeleton crew working the weekend.

"Goren and Eames, who else? Don't you guys have anything to do on weekends besides work?"

Bobby laughed. "Give us a break, McGrath. We're hot on the trail of a killer."

As they headed to a small side room equipped with TVs and VCRs, another detective called out, "Hey, Bobby, great game last night. That was some block at the end."

"Thanks, Keller."

"Yeah, Goren, I heard you saved our season," McGrath chimed in.

Bobby smiled bashfully. "Just helped a little," he mumbled as he slipped into the shelter of the TV room. Alex couldn't stifle a grin as she noticed his face taking on a pinker shade.

Each one commandeered a TV, and they started working their way through the first two packages of tapes. The time stamps helped; they had already figured out roughly when Saunders would have had to stop at each store to make the time line work. After about 35 minutes, Alex stiffened in her chair. Stop. Rewind. Play. Stop. Rewind. "Bobby, look at this."

Bobby stopped his tape and shifted toward her screen, then slid his chair closer. Alex hit the play button, and a store's entryway appeared. A man approached. Body shape, gait, all familiar. And then the camera caught a good facial angle. Alex froze the frame. Bobby swore softly. "Got him," Alex said with glee.

"We could use some computer enhancement on that," Bobby said.

"Yeah, but we know who we'll see."

They continued watching until the same figure left the store, carrying a large bag. Then they checked the other tapes in the package. A camera mounted above the home and garden department caught Saunders in the background, at the edge of sporting goods, picking out a pair of dumbbells that looked about the size of the murder weapon.

Bobby made note of the time stamps on each tape that showed Saunders, and Alex put the evidence back into its package. Hitting the power buttons on the VCR and TV, she asked, "Shall we type the affidavits now or Monday?"

"They'll keep. The computer guys will take all morning Monday to do the enhancements anyway. We can take everything to Carver in the afternoon and serve the warrant Tuesday morning. This guy isn't going anywhere."

"Works for me. That leaves us the rest of the weekend to play."

"And plan our interrogation strategy. Although with this much evidence, I don't think he'll last long," Bobby said with a slight smile.

They locked up the evidence and headed out of the bullpen.


	25. Tall Challenges

**Chapter 25: Tall Challenges**

The scent of sweat and liniment assailed Mike's nostrils as he maneuvered awkwardly through the metal doors and into the gym. He was a little rusty at walking on crutches, but it was coming back to him - along with some painful, decades-old memories of an incident caused by his drunken mother that had left him with a broken leg and an empty summer.

Fortunately, this time he wouldn't be on the crutches for that long. Long enough, though, he mused, a frown darkening his features.

A whistle sounded, and the 10 men scrimmaging on the court stopped and turned toward Coach Hunter. "OK, guys, take a break," he told them.

As the men sauntered to the bleachers and the cooler full of water bottles, Goren was the first to spot his glum teammate hobbling toward them.

"Hey, Mike!" Bobby hollered, trotting over. "What did the doctor say?"

The rest of the team wasn't far behind, and as they gathered around, Mike shook his head.

"Not what I wanted to hear, but I guess it could be worse," he replied morosely. "It's a mild sprain. The doc said I should be 100 percent for the championship game if I sit out this week. If I play, I could mess it up worse and be on these damn crutches for a month."

Cursing and muttering greeted the news.

"Man, we're going to need your outside shooting to beat the Port Authority," Kramer said. "They'll pack their zone in tight and force us to shoot jumpers all night. And we don't have another shooter like you."

"All right, all right. The negativity stops now!" Hunter said firmly. "We'll get the shots we need. We'll hit some from outside and some from inside. We'll pass and pass and pass until their zone breaks down, and then we'll sneak it in on them. And Nick, Slim and Bobby are going to get every rebound if they have to. Whatever it takes, we're going to win Friday night. We have a date with destiny, and the Port Authority isn't going to stop us!"

The coach's fiery words brought several nods and grunts of assent. Downcast eyes rose, with sparks showing.

"OK, then," Hunter said with a grin. "Grab some water and let's get back to work."

Walking toward the bench, Mike looked at Bobby quizzically. "I'm surprised you're here tonight. I thought you and Alex would be in interrogation, wrapping up your case."

"Well, we hit a little roadblock. We've got everything ready to lay out for Carver, but he was stuck in court until late. So we got pushed back until tomorrow. It'll probably be Wednesday before we actually bring Saunders in. We're hoping for an early morning wakeup call, with both search and arrest warrants."

"Blitz attack, huh? Sounds like fun. I always like waking up a perp to bust him – turning his sweet dreams into nightmares."

Bobby smiled and took a swig of water as the coach blew his whistle again. He trotted back out on the court, and Mike settled on the bench to watch.

"Keep your head in the game, Mike," Hunter said around his whistle. "If you spot anything useful, let me know."

The scrimmage resumed, with the first team on offense and the second team in a tight 2-3 zone.

"Penetrate and dish, Frankie. Penetrate and dish," Hunter urged. "If Jimbo's not open, get it to Goren. Bobby, go strong to the hoop. Muscle up on them. That's the way!"

At their next water break, Mike called Lester aside. "Frankie, can you throw a lob?"

"Yeah, but Kramer doesn't like 'em. He dunks off the rebound or the dribble."

"I was thinking of Goren."

Lester looked startled. "Goren," he mused, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Can he jam?"

"I'm not sure he knows."

Lester grinned. "Well, maybe we can find out."

Sauntering over to Bobby, Lester put on his best conspiratorial tone. "Next time Kramer strays out of the paint toward Jimbo, duck inside your man real fast and I'll hit you for an easy bucket."

"I'll try, but it may not be so easy," Bobby said.

A few minutes into the next scrimmage session, Lester brought the ball up and faked to his right. Kramer edged out, and his man followed, leaving a small opening at the back of the defense. Bobby got his shoulder inside his man and darted for the hoop. Lester flipped him a pass – but not at all what he expected. Instead of chest high, it was above the rim. Bobby leaped and managed to get his fingers on it. He tapped it onto the glass, and it fell in for two points. The whistle shrilled.

"What the hell ..." Bobby and Coach Hunter said almost at the same time.

"C'mon, Bobby, dunk the damn thing!" Mike yelled from the bench.

Bobby scowled and reddened. "Damn it, Frankie. I thought you were going to feed me for a layup."

"Looks like I did. It worked. But you coulda jammed it."

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure …"

"You can do it, Goren. Give it a shot," Mike hollered.

Their teammates were staring at Bobby curiously. Coach Hunter looked thoughtful.

"I-I uh, I uh …" embarrassed, Bobby stopped trying to form words and began studying the floor at his feet.

Frankie took a couple of steps toward him. "Goren," he said softly. Bobby looked up and met his eyes. "You're above the rim. You've been there for the past two games. You can do it."

Hunter joined them at Bobby's elbow. "He's right. You're up there. You're just always looking for the glass instead of the rim. But you've got the hands for it – with both size and dexterity. That block you guided to Lester in the last game and the layup just now on a lob you didn't expect show that."

Bobby gave the coach a guarded look.

"No pressure. Just let it happen naturally," Hunter told him. "Sometime when you're up there, just go straight for the rim. When you feel it, do it."

Bobby looked uncertain, but he nodded his head.

"OK, five minutes of full court," Hunter said, turning to the rest of the team. "Let's go straight 23 defense and alternate the 12 and 13 offenses. The last minute we'll press."

locilocilociloci

It was almost 6 on Wednesday morning, and Bobby and Alex sat quietly in the SUV, drinking coffee and watching faint pink streaks lighten the deep gray sky. Two squad cars from Glen Cove and one from Manhattan, specially requested to transport Saunders back to 1PP after the search, waited along the road, flanking the home.

A smile played at the corners of Bobby's mouth as he thought about the teamwork that would go into this morning's operation. Rarely did he feel like one of the team at NYPD. He was used to being out of step, used to the stares of other cops, the whispers, the shakes of the head. For so long it had seemed that only Alex … and then Mike and Carolyn … felt comfortable around him.

But basketball was changing that. For the past two days, almost every time he had ventured out into the halls or stopped in another department at 1PP, someone had thrown a compliment or encouragement his way. Cops he barely knew were smiling and asking about the Port Authority game or the anticipated matchup with Brooklyn's Finest for the championship. It felt good to be accepted, good to have teammates, on and off the job.

Even this morning, he had been reminded of that when the patrol car rolled up at headquarters for the mini-caravan to Glen Cove. He had known it would be a 2-7 car; that was 1PP's home precinct, and it provided street support when needed. But when the driver's door opened and Slim Barnett stepped out, Bobby had been startled.

"Slim, what are you doing here?" he had blurted out.

With a wide grin for Bobby and Alex, Barnett had replied, "Lookin' out for you. Can't take a chance on you gettin' hurt this close to the championship game. When our sergeant announced yesterday that Goren and Eames needed patrol help on an arrest this mornin', I volunteered my partner and me. Good thing we're early risers."

The light in Bobby's eyes had shown his appreciation, and recalling the moment, that glint returned. As if reading his mind, Alex reached over and covered his hand with hers. She smiled, and he grinned back. "We've got a good team today," she said. "No worries about whether our backup will be paying attention."

"Yeah, and I think it's about time for the team to swing into action," Bobby replied, turning his hand palm up and giving hers a squeeze. "The bathroom light just went on. One groggy suspect, coming up."

Alex nodded, and simultaneously they opened their doors and stepped out onto the road. Quietly they pushed the doors to, and the other cops followed suit. They crept up the driveway, and a pair of Glen Cove officers slipped around each side of the house to cover the back. No one was really expecting Saunders to bolt, but these things had to be done by the book, just to make sure.

As Alex and Bobby reached the porch, a downstairs light went on. Alex knocked and announced, "Police! Open the door!"

Hands on their weapons, Bobby and Alex flanked the door and waited. Footsteps, then the door swung open. Jake Saunders stood there in a purple bathrobe and brown slippers, hair askew, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "Wha-what?"

Bobby pushed past him and into the foyer as Alex yanked a search warrant from her pocket and shoved it into Saunders' chest. "We have a warrant to search the premises."

Stacy Saunders, looking frightened but a bit less disheveled than her husband, appeared at the top of the staircase. "Jake, what's going on?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Saunders, but we need to conduct a search," Alex said, moving past their suspect and into the middle of the foyer. Bobby was already in the living room, and Slim and his partner had each taken a side wall, alertly scanning for surprises. "Is there anyone else in the house?"

"No, just us. Richard won't arrive for another half-hour," she said, descending the stairs. "What is this about?"

"It's about the murder of Leslie Kensington Leonard. We also have an arrest warrant for your husband," Alex told her.

"What? How dare you accuse me!" Jake shouted, taking a menacing step toward Alex.

Bobby, hearing the threat in his tone, bolted out of the living room, but Barnett had imposed his 6-6 frame between Jake and Alex. "Sir, it's going to take awhile to search the area and then transport you back to Manhattan. I can handcuff you now if you can't control yourself, but that's going to make it a very painful morning for you."

Jake paled and took a step back, and Alex turned away from him to hide a smirk. She too headed to the living room, and in a voice quiet enough that only Bobby could hear, she said, "It's already a painful morning for him."

Four hours later – an exasperating four hours for Jake and Stacy Saunders – the NYPD officers were on their way back to Manhattan with a few telling items in the SUV and one very uncomfortable item sitting in the back seat of Barnett's car.

After Saunders was processed, he was deposited in a holding cell to await the arrival of a lawyer hastily rounded up by Stacy Saunders. Meanwhile, Bobby and Alex holed up in their conference room, added their new evidence to the multitude they had previously collected and began going over their interrogation strategy.

Lunch came and went as the detectives awaited the arrival of Ron Carver from his trial. He had asked them to hold off questioning Saunders until he could observe. They didn't mind; it meant the suspect would have more time to sweat.

A little after 3, Ross poked his head in the conference room to tell them Carver was on his way. Eames ordered that the suspect be brought to interrogation. A half-hour later, Saunders and his lawyer were seated at the metal table in the small cinder block room, and Ross, Carver, Goren and Eames were in the observation area.

Bobby smiled to himself and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He particularly liked the strategy he and Eames had planned and was looking forward to taking their smooth-talking, narcissistic opponent apart.

Just then the door opened and Mike Logan hobbled in. "Is it showtime yet?" he asked with a lopsided grin.

"You want to watch?" Ross asked, a bit surprised.

"Captain, I haven't done a damn thing all day except paperwork, thanks to these crutches. Desk duty is no fun at all."

"But a Goren and Eames interrogation is," Ross said with a hint of a smile.

"Well, if they could pull a rabbit out of a hat today, it would be nice," Carver said. "But I admit, I have some doubts here."

"What do you mean, counselor?" Alex asked in a slightly annoyed tone.

"With all due respect to the two of you and your gift of gab, if I were Saunders, I wouldn't say a word," Carver replied. "Gregory Hamilton, his lawyer, is as charming a courtroom tap dancer as I've ever seen, and he no doubt understands that we have a very strong but circumstantial case against his client. If I were him, I wouldn't talk about anything except a plea bargain for manslaughter."

"Manslaughter!" Bobby said, his voice rising in sharp surprise. "This is a clear case of premeditated murder."

"By the time Hamilton gets done explaining away every piece of evidence you've got, he'll have half the jury on his side and the other half completely confused. He knows that without a confession, I'll probably have to plea bargain. And he's not going to let his client confess."

"We'll see about that, Mr. Carver," Bobby said determinedly. "It may not be easy getting a confession, but that's OK. We like a challenge."

He cut a glance toward Eames and was pleased and not at all surprised to see a glint in her eyes and a confident smirk on her lips. He grinned at her and then turned to give Ross a quick nod. "We're ready."

Neither noticed the thoughtful tilt of Mike's head as he watched them walk out the door and turn toward the interrogation room. "Pretty sure of themselves, aren't they?" Mike mused after the door shut behind them.

"They always are," Carver noted, and Ross agreed with a nod before adding, "And they're usually right."


	26. Interrogation

**First, a HUGE thank you to TeddyMo for noticing that my thoughts had wandered back to the good old days and I had slipped Deakins in for Ross in the last chapter. It's all fixed now, but she deserves the credit. Second, a nod to Star Jelly, one of our M/C shippers, who asked me not to let Barek disappear from the story. Hmmm, let's see what I can do …**

**Chapter 26: Interrogation**

Alex gave the uniformed cop at the door of interrogation a nod, and as he turned the knob to open it, she started in on Bobby. "… so next time you decide to stay out through last call, just be sure you can answer the bell in the morning."

"Hey, I'm fine. You're the one being the by-the-book hardass."

Alex paused halfway through the door and threw a glare over her shoulder at him. Lowering her voice, but not enough that she couldn't be heard inside, she retorted, "Just doing my job. You should try it sometime."

Taking a deep breath, she turned back and stepped into the room. She pasted on a bright smile and held out her hand to the man who had risen from the chair nearest the door. He was at least Bobby's height but quite thin, with neatly trimmed gray hair, and was wearing an elegantly tailored navy blue suit, a crisp white shirt with thin blue pinstripes and a solid red tie held in place by a diamond tie clip.

"I'm Alexandra Eames, the senior detective," she said, with just a hint of a tremor in her voice.

"Gregory Hamilton, Mr. Saunders' attorney," he said with a confident smile and a firm handshake.

Managing a sharper tone, she added, "And this is my partner, Detective Robert Goren," as she turned back to her right, indicating with a wave where she seemed to think Bobby was standing. But she was presenting empty space; he had bolted past her into the room, ignoring the niceties. He frowned at Saunders, who was slumped in the far chair next to Hamilton's. Their prey was in a slightly rumpled pair of khaki pants and a creamy orange polo shirt.

"Popsicle," Bobby said under his breath after looking Saunders up and down. He giggled to himself, then dropped his binder on the table and shoved his hands in his pockets. Annoyance creased Saunders' face.

Alex pulled out the chair directly across from Hamilton, and she and the lawyer sat down simultaneously. Bobby found a section of wall just past the two-way mirror to lean against and began contemplating the ceiling.

"Well, I'm sure you've read the affidavit Detective Goren put together, Mr. Hamilton, so you probably have a good idea of some of the evidence against your client. But we'd like to hear his side of the story," Alex said, keeping her tone professional but pleasant.

"Waste of time …" Bobby muttered from his corner, reaching up to loosen his tie and top button and sighing heavily.

Alex glared at him. Hamilton flashed an amused smile, intrigued by the discord between his two adversaries. "Perhaps your partner has someplace he'd rather be?"

"How about in court, where we're gonna put this cheating, murdering sonofabitch away for life?" Bobby snapped, locking eyes with Saunders.

"Detective … Goren, is it?" Hamilton said mildly. "There are perfectly good explanations for everything, and I am sure this will be worked out long before Mr. Saunders sets foot in a trial court."

"Hmpf," Bobby snorted.

Carver, Ross and Logan, watching intently from behind the glass, were startled as the door to the observation room opened and Carolyn Barek strolled in.

"Hi, guys. Mind if I join the party?"

Consternation crossed Ross' face as he looked at Barek and then Logan. "What's the matter – you two think you need some pointers?"

Logan frowned. "Hey, just because the Goren Show is entertaining doesn't mean it's better than a Logan-Barek interrogation."

"And anyway, I think what we have here is the Goren & Eames Show," Carolyn said with a mischievous smile.

"You know something about their plans?" Ross asked suspiciously.

Carolyn just shrugged and turned to face the glass. "Let's watch. I don't want to miss anything."

Just then Alex stood, slipped off her sweater and draped it over the back of her chair, revealing a snug, pale blue tank top and enough bare skin to get Saunders' attention. He straightened in his chair as she sat down again.

"Kind of warm in here," Alex noted. "They never seem to be able to get the thermostat right. Feel free to take your jacket off if you'd like, Mr. Hamilton."

"Oh, I'm fine. Thank you, Detective."

"Nobody else is having hot flashes," Bobby muttered.

Alex frowned at him and started to say something, but then she abruptly turned her attention back to the lawyer. "Please don't mind my partner. He's better at staying out late than getting up early. If it were midnight he might be a little more polite."

"I'll save 'polite' for more pleasant company. I'm not wasting it on this mutt and his mouthpiece," Bobby retorted. "They aren't going to tell us anything anyway."

Alex shrugged her shoulders and gave a slight shake of her head. Saunders smiled a little and let his eyes wander up her arm to her collarbone. "So, where were we?" she asked, turning to Saunders and drawing his eyes back to hers. "Oh, yes. I was hoping you could explain what you did on the night Mrs. Kensington Leonard was murdered."

"That's simple. I …"

"Really, Mr. Saunders, I think it best if you have nothing to say about specifics at this time," Hamilton told him.

"Hey, it's no big deal. I don't mind talking to such a lovely detective," Saunders said, giving Alex his best smile. "As long as the goon stays in the corner."

"Goon?" Bobby said with a smirk and a laugh. "You think you can piss me off, maybe get me to rough you up, mess up the case? No way, asshole."

"Goren! If you can't be civil, I'll do this on my own."

Bobby scowled. "Hey, I woulda let you if I could. I already wrapped this thing up for you with a bow. But the captain said I have to be here, so I'm here. Just hurry up and finish. I got stuff to do."

Alex sighed heavily. "Mr. Saunders, if there's a good explanation, I would love to hear it."

"I was at a business conference."

"Not that night. We know you took a side trip to Mohawk Mountain."

"Oh, yes. That was the day I went skiing," he smiled at her. "Do you ski?"

"I never have," she said, a bit wistfully.

"I love being on the slopes. The white powder, the smooth curves and drops as you glide along. It's like flying without a plane," he said with an inviting smile. "I go every chance I get. You should try it sometime. And don't forget to enjoy the fireplace in the evening, preferably after a romantic dinner."

"Hmmm," she said, a dreamy look flitting over her features. Snapping back to the present, she looked down at the papers in front of her. "You must have left early and gotten back late to have very much time on the slopes."

"I did. I was up before dawn, drove there in my Tahoe, skied all day, had a late dinner and drove back to the conference. Got in about 2, I think."

"Dinner?" she said, a note of hope sneaking into her voice. "Did you pay by credit card?"

"No, unfortunately. Cash. I think I only used my credit card for a day pass on the ski lift."

Alex's shoulders sagged. "Oh."

"Sorry, Detective. I didn't know I was going to need an alibi. Isn't the ski lift pass enough?"

"Well, it doesn't get stamped when it is used, so it doesn't prove you were actually on the slopes," she replied, shaking her head. "So you went straight to Mohawk and back to the conference – no side trips?"

"That's right."

"Well, unfortunately, that doesn't square with my partner's math."

"What do you mean?" the lawyer asked, his brow furrowing.

"Well, he's got it all figured out how you could have driven here from Mohawk, killed Mrs. Kensington Leonard and gotten back to the conference, and he says the mileage on the Tahoe fits that scenario."

"How does he know the mileage?" Hamilton asked suspiciously.

"The ever-meticulous Richard," Bobby said with a triumphant smile. "He had the Tahoe serviced before the trip. The shop recorded the mileage. So did Richard, in a little book he keeps in the vehicle. He writes down everything in there, date and mileage, including when he washes it, which he was doing the first time we came out to your home. I happened to notice the mileage at the time."

"You had no business snooping in my client's vehicle," Hamilton said indignantly. "You didn't have a search warrant at that point."

"Well, I just happened to have one today, and I just happened to find that book, so it doesn't matter what I knew when and how, because it's all in the damn book," Bobby said, slamming his hand on the table. "And now, thanks to my search, we have that book. In addition to the shop's records. And it all adds up to a murderous trip to New York in the midst of your little business conference."

Bobby was gloating as he finished, and Saunders was nervously throwing sideways glances at his lawyer.

Hamilton frowned. "The miles could have been run up elsewhere."

"It's opportunity. And I know the motive too," Bobby said, leaning down to force Saunders to look at him.

"Detective, we know you know one of his business deals with Mrs. Kensington Leonard had fallen through," Hamilton said wearily. "As you said, I read the affidavit. That's not a good enough reason to kill the young lady. Your motive and your opportunity are weak."

"It's more than that," Bobby said, his voice close to a snarl. "You'd been banging little miss snooty pants for months to help your business, and it didn't work, and you were pissed at her. And maybe you were getting tired of her by then anyway, since you are all over anything in a skirt. You were ready to move on to some fresh meat. So you went down there, all full of rage, and you brained her with a 20-pound weight."

"That's ridiculous!"

Bobby laughed. "Wait'll we tell sweet little Stacy about what you were up to. When she kicks you out, will you have enough money of your own to pay for a fancy lawyer like this one?"

"Goren!" Alex said angrily. "There's no need for that. Especially before we've got all our ducks in a row. If there are extenuating circumstances or it was an accident, we shouldn't be blurting out things that could ruin his marriage."

"He did that on his own, Eames," Bobby hissed at her.

"Look, Goren, if you don't want to give Mr. Saunders a break, can't you at least have a little consideration for Stacy's feelings?" Alex pleaded.

"Too damn soft," Bobby said, shaking his head. "If you want to defend this guy, go to law school."

"I'm just trying to keep an open mind here," Alex replied, her face reddening. "That doesn't make me soft."

"Yeah, sure," Bobby said, rolling his eyes. Turning his back on the trio at the table, he looked at the mirror, holding the glance for an extra beat.

Behind the glass, Carolyn smiled. "That's my cue," she said, heading for the door.

"Huh?" Mike said, as the three men looked surprised and confused.

As the door closed behind her, Ross looked at Mike. "You didn't know about this?"

"No. I have no idea what they're doing."

A knock on the door of interrogation startled Alex just as she was opening her mouth to frame another question. All four occupants turned as Carolyn timidly stuck her head in the room. "Sorry to interrupt," she said with a sweet smile for Bobby. "I need Bobby, uh, Detective Goren, for a few minutes. It's very important."

"Sure you do, baby," Bobby replied with a wink and a confident grin. "So, Eames, I'm sure you can get along without me for a little while."

"Go ahead," Alex said with a frustrated sigh. "You've already got your mind made up anyway."

Bobby was at the door in three big strides, and then he disappeared. Alex glared after him. "Thinks he's God's gift to women," she muttered.

"Your partner is a bit arrogant, Detective," Hamilton observed.

"You noticed," she said with a bitter smile.

"He doesn't treat you very well," Saunders interjected. "You deserve more respect."

"Thanks," Alex said, blushing again. "He's the junior partner, but he thinks he knows everything and does all the work. Thinks he has this case all figured out. Some guys …" she trailed off.

"Hey, not all of us are like that," Saunders said, smiling encouragingly at her.

"Look, I'm no soft touch," Alex said pulling back a little but meeting his eyes with an earnest look. "I don't like it that you were involved with another woman. But I know sometimes these things are complicated, and just because a guy strays, it doesn't mean he's a murderer."

"Of course, I'm not a murderer," Saunders insisted.

"Mr. Saunders, be clear about this: I'm convinced you were there and somehow caused her death. My partner thinks he has everything he needs to convince a jury that you committed premeditated murder. I think it could be more complicated than that. If there was an argument and something happened in the heat of the moment, you could be facing a lesser charge … and maybe with your wife at your side. It looks to me, from the way you treat her, that there's still hope for your marriage."

Saunders put on his best contrite face. "I really wouldn't want Stacy to hear that stuff your partner was spouting."

"With some help from our captain and the D.A., I think we could manage to keep him muzzled," Alex assured him.

Behind the glass, Ross shook his head. "Now, that would be a real magic trick."

Carver, Mike and Carolyn laughed as Bobby feigned indignation. "I'm not that bad, am I, Captain?"

"No comment," Ross said with just a hint of a smile.

Alex leaned forward again, palms up in a gesture of openness. "I don't think there's any getting around that mileage thing. And there's something else." Lowering her voice almost to a conspiratorial level, she continued, "You know from the affidavit that Brandon Weaver told us he spilled the beans about the business deal. What's not in there is that he told us you were very angry. He told us you said you'd take it up with her, and you sounded furious."

"He was exaggerating," Saunders blurted. "I just meant I wanted to talk to her about it. I thought I could change her mind."

"My partner thinks you decided to kill her and concocted a plan to cover your tracks. He's a black and white kind of guy, doesn't understand the complexities of relationships."

"So you have a different theory, Detective?" the lawyer asked encouragingly.

"All the evidence indicates Mr. Saunders did come to New York. But I think it was more spur-of-the-moment," she replied.

Shifting slightly in her seat, she addressed Saunders. "You started on your skiing side trip with the best of intentions. But losing the business deal was weighing on your mind. Sometime during the day, you decided to try to talk her out of buying from Weaver. You drove down here, confronted her about her and her partners' plans. She wouldn't see it your way. There was some pushing and shoving; she was fit enough and physical enough to take care of herself. Maybe she grabbed something and you grabbed that weight. Or maybe she just fell and hit her head. You panicked and ran."

Hamilton could barely suppress his glee. He knew a lot of evidence pointed to his client. But the two detectives' antagonism had split them on their theories, and that would be devastating in court. If he could push them toward a voluntary manslaughter charge – and if Eames had the D.A.'s ear and Goren was as infuriating to everyone as he seemed, that could be likely – then it was just one more step to convince the jury it was an accidental death. This female detective, alienated from her partner and perhaps slightly attracted to Saunders, was the key to getting his client off with much less than a sentence for murder – and maybe no sentence at all. Hamilton licked his lips in anticipation.

Shifting toward his client, the lawyer nodded almost imperceptibly. Saunders' shoulders drooped slightly, but then he straightened a little and shrugged. "The weight was there on the floor. She stumbled and fell on it. I didn't mean for her to get hurt. I just wanted to repair the business deal."

Bobby grinned from ear to ear. "Terrific, isn't she?" he said to no one in particular. Turning away from the glass, he grabbed a box from the side table and left the room. Seconds later, he was back in interrogation, still smiling. He set the box on the table with a loud thump and looked at his partner. "So, how's it going?"

Alex returned his smile. "Couldn't be better, Bobby. Saunders here just told me the weight was sitting on the floor and she fell on it."

"Yeah, I heard."

They both looked at Saunders, Alex with a smirk and Bobby like a hungry wolf preparing to pounce. Hamilton stared at them. He felt a flush creeping up his neck and perspiration forming on his brow and under his arms. The vibe between the detectives had definitely changed. He knew it was time for damage control – maybe past time. "Clearly, it was an accident."

Bobby laughed. "The weight wasn't on the floor, Mr. Hamilton. She wasn't killed by a fall. The M.E.'s report is clear that a blow was struck. And your client just admitted being there."

"Voluntary manslaughter at the very most. You'll never convince a jury otherwise," Hamilton replied, fighting to keep his tone even. He sensed his control of the situation slipping away.

Saunders, confused, looked first at his lawyer and then at Bobby, leaning in toward him. "Oh, I think we will," Bobby said confidently. "That weight didn't just happen to be there. It belonged to you, Jake."

He reached into the box and pulled out the weight, sealed in a heavy plastic evidence bag, but with dried blood clearly visible. "It was newer than the other weights. Brand new, in fact. Not part of their equipment."

Saunders glanced down briefly and too quickly replied, "You're wrong. It's not mine. My company didn't make that."

"You're right," Alex chimed in. "It's Weaver's brand. And we've got surveillance tapes from the store where you bought it that night. And we found its mate in the exercise room at your home this morning." She lifted the second weight of the pair, also encased in plastic, from the box and set it next to the murder weapon. "Look at that, Bobby – a perfect match," she said with glee.

"I guess you shouldn't have tried to hide it in plain sight," Bobby scolded Saunders. "It really didn't fit in with the others. After all, they're your brand."

Saunders ground his teeth and glared, first at Bobby, then at Alex. His eyes lingered on her. "I thought you understood! I thought you were going to give me a break."

"Oh, I gave you a break, all right. I made sure Stacy was unarmed when I took her next door. She's been watching this whole time, right behind that glass," Alex said, with a sideways nod of her head. "She's going to cut you loose after this, Jake. Your rich playboy days are over. And you'll never see the ski slopes again, except maybe on a prison TV."

"YOU BITCH!" Saunders, enraged, bolted up from his chair. Bobby was ready, though, engulfing him in a bear hug and slamming him back down into the chair. "You're just like she was! She flirted and sweet talked and got me in her bed, but when it came time to pay up with the deal I had planned, she betrayed me," Saunders ranted, struggling vainly in Bobby's firm grasp. The lawyer had scooted his chair back toward the corner, safe from his enraged client.

"She got what she deserved!" Saunders shouted. "Lying, betraying bitch! Just like you. Damn right, I killed her. And I'd do it again!"

Two uniformed officers burst through the door and quickly flanked Saunders. They helped Bobby force his arms behind him, and soon his wrists were handcuffed. He was still struggling, but the fight was starting to drain out of him as he realized there was nothing he could do.

"My, what a temper you have," Bobby said, shaking his head solemnly at their captured prey. "All that rage and a full confession, on our tape for the jury to see. I think they'll be convinced."

Saunders was hustled away, his defeated lawyer following quietly. Bobby reloaded the evidence box, Alex grabbed her sweater, and they headed out of the room.

Carver, Ross, Logan and Barek were waiting in the hall.

"That was masterful," Ross said, shaking his head.

"Eames did the real work," Bobby said with a huge grin. "Her 'betrayal' was exactly what we needed to spark his fury and the confession."

"Indeed," Carver mused, shaking his head in awe. "I guess I should know by now never to assume a confession is impossible when you two are doing the interrogation. You're quite a team, Detectives."


	27. Competition

**It's been way too long since I updated. As usual, I've let my procrastinating get out of hand, but I've also had a severe case of writer's block. For a long time, all I could think of for this little part of the story was a boring transitional chapter. But yesterday I had some ideas to spice it up. I hope you like it.**

**Chapter 27: Competition**

Kenny Moran signed the report, closed the folder and tossed it into his out basket with a sigh of relief. Thank goodness Eames wrote that one, he thought. Even though both detectives' names were on it, he found it easy to tell – and far easier to read – when she presented a logical, straightforward account of the investigation, evidence and interrogation. Goren had a tendency to wander off point, and his logic was often difficult to follow. Moran had to admit, Goren was quick on his feet in a courtroom and always seemed a step ahead of the trickiest defense lawyers, but his writing was dense and full of rabbit trails.

Spreading his arms and rolling his shoulders in a desperately needed stretch, he was just about to rise and call it a day when his desk phone jangled.

Frowning, he picked it up. "Moran," he said guardedly, hoping there were no new disasters to ruin his Friday evening.

"Hey, Kenny, it's Mac. How ya doin'?"

"Mac, you sonofabitch. What are you doing calling at 4:55 on a Friday afternoon? I was sure I was gonna be stuck with a high-profile murder that would keep me tied up all night."

Joe Macklin, the police commissioner's top aide and an academy classmate of Moran's, laughed at his longtime buddy. "Getting a little paranoid in your old age, Kenny?"

Moran grinned into the phone. "Maybe. Goes with the territory, I guess. How are things in the commissioner's office these days?"

"A lot quieter than the chief of D's has it, obviously."

"Well, it should calm down a little now that the Kensington Leonard case is solved. If we could only wrap up the Garrison case, maybe I could get a decent night's sleep."

"What you need is a night out. Got any plans?"

"No, Betty's sister is in town, and they're going to a show. But it's a musical, so I begged off. My big plan was pizza, beer and some mindless TV to wind down. It's been a long week."

"How about some hoops instead?"

"Hoops? Who's playing?"

"Your guys, Kenny. 1PP. If they win tonight, they're in the NYC police league championship game. I think for, like, the first time in the history of police league ball."

"Yeah, I heard they've got something special going this year, but I haven't been out to watch. You know my two biggest headaches play on that team."

"Goren and Logan? The word is they're key reasons the team is so much better this year."

"Logan I believe," Moran mused. "He's always had a lot of fight in him. But Goren? I can't picture him playing any sport. Being on a debate team, maybe, or sitting in a library."

"He's a big guy, Kenny."

"Yeah, big and soft and brainy. His partner is the muscle of the outfit. Not that she lacks brains, but I'd rather have her on my side in a fight than him."

Macklin laughed. "Eames? Yeah, she's a spitfire, isn't she? Anyway, I've seen Goren play, and he's pretty good. But he'll have his hands full tonight against the Port Authority because Logan's out with an ankle injury. Whaddya say we grab a burger and a beer and see the game?"

"Might as well. I was about to head out. Meet me in the lobby?"

Less than two hours later, they were settled in the stands, watching warmups. Moran looked over and saw Patterson, Jeff Tasby and the coach for Brooklyn's Finest, homicide Capt. Steve Szymansky, climbing the bleachers for a good vantage point.

"Hey, Cap, here on a little scouting mission?" Mac asked with a grin.

"Yeah, we thought we'd check out the competition," Szymansky said, steering the group closer.

"You guys aren't playing tonight?" Moran asked, puzzled.

"Nope. We play mostly Saturday night games. We plan to take care of business tomorrow, so we should be playing your boys in a week. I figured it wouldn't hurt to watch 'em tonight."

"Could be a wasted trip," Patterson chimed in. "If they lose to the Port Authority, there'll be a three-way tie for their division, and they could miss out on point differential. Without Logan, they're in trouble."

"They've still got Goren and Kramer in the middle," Macklin pointed out.

"Kramer's tough, but Goren is overrated," Patterson scoffed.

"Well, I haven't seen him play hoops, but he sure wrapped up his case faster than you're wrapping up yours," Moran needled.

Patterson frowned, his face darkening. "I'd have my case done too if he hadn't gotten in the middle of it and fouled it up," he protested.

Moran shrugged dismissively and returned his gaze to the court. It didn't hurt to push a few competitive buttons to get a guy moving, and frankly, he was disappointed that Patterson and Kowalski hadn't been able to close the Garrison case yet.

The quiet derision wasn't lost on Patterson, and he seethed but said nothing. Just another reason to knock Goren on his butt the first chance he got. As much as he'd love to see the big detective lose tonight, he really wanted a shot at him on the basketball court. The conflicting emotions left his stomach feeling unsettled, and he definitely didn't like that. He was used to being cool and in control. Why was it that Goren always seemed to be knocking his life off balance?

The trio settled in a few rows above Moran and Macklin and closer to one of the baskets, to get a better look at what 1PP did on offense and defense. None of them was sorry to have a little distance from the brass. Patterson looked down and spotted Goren just as the horn sounded to bring the teams out for the tipoff. His eyes narrowed as he stared at his quarry. Just one good shot, he thought. One well-timed, well-placed shot, and I can take him out.

As Bobby trotted out on the court, he felt the butterflies stirring in his stomach. This was a huge game – a chance to get to his biggest game ever – and he knew it wouldn't be easy. The Port Authority players were 6-6, 6-6 and 6-5 across the front line, and they clogged the middle like nobody 1PP had played yet. They used one defense, a 2-3 zone, and they played the heck out of it. If you couldn't shoot from outside, it was a tough defense to crack, and with Logan on the bench, 1PP's outside game was sorely lacking tonight.

Bobby stole a quick glance up into the stands where Alex was sitting with Carolyn. She met his eyes and smiled, and he felt a warmth inside that settled him a bit. Whatever happened, she would be there for him. But he wanted her to be proud of him, so he was determined to give it all he had tonight.

The referee tossed the ball into the air, and PA's center, Damon Boyce, outjumped the 6-8 Kramer for it. What Boyce lacked in inches, he definitely made up for in spring. 1PP's five each found his man and played tight defense, but after a few passes, PA got an open 10-footer and sank it.

Bobby took the ball out, flipped it to Lester and headed upcourt. He found his place, and 1PP initiated its zone offense, passing quickly around the perimeter, men on the baseline cutting at angles across the lane, trying to stretch the zone until a gap opened up. Eventually one did, and a quick pass to Kramer resulted in a layup to tie it.

Settling into the rhythm of the game, Bobby no longer felt the butterflies. But what he soon felt instead was elbows and arms and chests, all blocking his path to the basket. PA was packing its zone tighter than ever, getting the middle all tangled up and forcing 1PP's big guys outside of the tight little knot under the hoop.

Every time Bobby tried to glide inside to get position for a rebound, someone was already there. He was surrounded, with no room to maneuver. And almost every time 1PP passed the ball back outside for a jump shot, somebody missed. Teddy Gregg, subbing for Logan, was struggling with his shot; the ball kept clanking off the rim and usually ended up in the hands of a Port Authority player. A few fast breaks got 1PP layups before PA could get set on defense, but otherwise the game was going the Port Authority's way.

Bobby could feel his frustration growing as the half wore on. The center was sagging toward him every time the ball swung to his side of the court. With a man in front and a man behind, he could barely move. At one point he tried to step out from between them toward the top of the key to take a pass, and he and the center, moving to stop him, collided hard. A whistle shrieked, and the official pointed at Bobby. Foul!

Bobby frowned and shook his head, knowing the call could have gone either way, but he turned and hustled back downcourt as the ball went over to PA. The center took a pass, faked Kramer out and drove the lane. Bobby slid away from his man to contest the shot and went up for a block. Smack! He caught arm as well as ball, and the whistle blew again. Two shots, and Boyce made them both, putting PA up 25-17.

As he tossed the ball in and headed upcourt, he heard Hunter's voice. "Careful out there, Bobby! Watch the fouls!" He nodded, gritting his teeth. These guys were really tough. If only Logan were in the game, forcing them to loosen up and cover the outside shot. That would free up some room inside for him. But Logan was in street clothes and still on crutches as a precaution.

Two annoying minutes later, 1PP turned the ball over again, and Bobby raced downcourt to help. He made it to the lane and barely got his feet set before PA's power forward bowled him over. The whistle sounded again, and Bobby was sure it would be charging. But instead he was called for a block, another close call but one that should have gone in his favor. He popped up off the floor, his eyes flashing with anger and frustration. Frankie Lester stepped quickly between Bobby and the official, putting his hands on the bigger man's chest, but he could see right away that there was no need for alarm. Bobby was upset but not enraged, and he was able to refocus from the official to Frankie immediately.

"Shake it off, man," the point guard told him. "It happens."

Bobby nodded and stepped back. But despite holding his temper, he still had three fouls, and Stanley came in to replace him. Head down, Bobby trotted to the bench. Hunter slapped him on the rear as he went by. "Shake it off, Bobby. You'll be back in. We've got to be careful about the foul trouble."

Bobby nodded grimly and sat down next to Logan. "Hang in there, buddy," Mike told him. "Two of those calls could have gone your way."

Nevertheless, with only two fouls left before he would foul out of the game, Bobby was stuck watching the rest of the half from the bench. 1PP battled for every point, and a few of Teddy's shots started falling, but it was still 39-25 when halftime arrived.

In the locker room, Bobby sat at the far end of the bench, head down, as Hunter and his assistant talked in low voices, with Mike listening in and contributing a few comments. After a few minutes, Hunter strolled over and crouched in front of Bobby, forcing the big man to meet his eyes.

"OK, Goren. Enough feeling sorry for yourself," he said sharply. "We need you in this game. Time to get your chin off the floor."

Bobby looked up, startled, and his teammates stared. "What do you mean, Coach? I'm trying my best. I can't seem to do anything without fouling."

"You're trying too hard. You're trying to force it instead of letting the game come to you."

"Come to me? It can't get near me. Those PA guys are on me tighter than my jersey."

Hunter gave him a knowing smile. "Yeah, they are, aren't they? And it's time we made them pay for it."

Bobby puzzled over that one for a few seconds, but he was hooked by the gleam in Hunter's eye. With a note of hope in his voice, he asked, "How do we do that, Coach?"

"First off, two more fouls and you're gone, so you don't go anywhere that requires you to bump anyone."

"That won't be easy with them crawling all over me."

"Keep your head in the game and you can do it. Now's the time to start employing that considerable brain you're so well-known for."

Bobby smiled slightly in embarrassment, but he was listening. "But if I'm not bumping and banging in the middle, what good will I be out there?"

"A helluva a lot of good, if they keep double-teaming you. Instead of crashing inside, start edging outside. Not too much, not so that they will really notice. Just a step or two. That should open it up for Frankie to drive and score or feed Kramer."

"So I'm a decoy?"

"Exactly! They aren't double-teaming when you're not in the game. Apparently, with Logan out, they've decided to stop you at all costs. So let's make that work in our favor," Hunter said. Straightening up, he looked around the room. "We all know Kramer can score, right?"

"Sure! Yeah! Absolutely!" the players chorused.

"And Lester can drive and score." More firm assents.

"And Teddy's shots are falling. He's heating up." Nods all around.

"OK, then. If they put two on Goren, it's three on four for everybody else. Let's make them pay!"

With shouts and claps, the players sounded off, their confidence renewed.

Hunter gave Bobby one last look. "But you've got to stay in the game. If you foul out, it's five on five, and they've got the edge," he said quietly.

Bobby took a deep breath and nodded. "I can do it, Coach."

When they left the locker room, Mike hobbled on his crutches over to Alex and Carolyn, eagerly grabbing popcorn.

"Hey, moocher," Carolyn said, batting his hand away in mock annoyance as he reached in for the third time in less than a minute. "If you're going to sit around in street clothes, you should get your own popcorn!"

"Yeah," Alex said with a grin. "Bobby used to buy us popcorn and cokes every game when he wasn't playing."

"Great. I'll send him to the concession stand," Mike said. "At least he can still walk."

Alex frowned. "He's not having a very good game. I have a feeling he's going to be pretty upset if things don't get better."

"They might not, Alex," Mike cautioned. "At least not for him. The Port Authority is guarding him with two men, and with three fouls on him, he's going to be very limited."

"He will play, though, right?" Alex asked.

"As long as he doesn't foul out. We need him in there to keep their defense tied up so other people can get open," Mike explained.

"That's a thankless job," Carolyn observed. "He was the star last week, and now he's going to have to take a pounding while other people do the scoring?"

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Mike said. "You can't be a hero every game."

"As long as he's not the goat," Alex said. "He's trying hard out there. Those fouls were unfair."

"Sometimes the game is unfair," Mike said philosophically. "But if we win, that's all that matters."

Mike grabbed one more giant handful of popcorn, shoved it in his mouth, winked and headed to the bench.

"I don't know about this," Alex said, frowning at Carolyn. "He's been doing so well. It's been great for him to hear some cheers and compliments for a change. If he has a bad game and people give him a hard time …"

"You'll just have to find a way to get his mind off of it," Carolyn said with a little grin. "Think you're up to the task?"

Alex laughed wryly. "I guess I'd better be."

As the team returned to the floor, Bobby took a moment to glance up at Alex. She looked worried, but she smiled and nodded encouragement. His heart felt a little lighter. As a decoy, he wouldn't have much in the way of points or rebounds to show for his efforts tonight. But he shrugged at the thought. The important thing was for the team to win, and this strategy made sense. It wasn't about statistics; it was about getting to the championship game. And no matter how bad his stats looked, Alex wouldn't think less of him.

When the second half began, Bobby was careful to do exactly as before, staying close to the basket and looking frustrated by the double-team. Teddy's first shot was good, though, so his weak effort to fight through for rebounding position didn't matter. The second time 1PP was on offense, he found a spot about a foot farther out, and when he cut toward the lane, he angled slightly higher than before. His two shadows followed him, and Kramer was left open under the hoop. Lester threw the 1PP center a bounce pass, and he laid the ball off the glass and in, cutting PA's lead to 10.

From then on, Kramer, Lester and Gregg carried the scoring load while Boyce and PA's power forward followed Bobby inches and inches farther from the hoop. By the time they realized how far outside they were and Boyce started edging back inside to shut down Kramer, 1PP had tied the score at 53. But Teddy Gregg, in a groove he hadn't found all season, kept firing in jump shot after jump shot, and his 21 points for the evening helped 1PP pull away at the end to win 68-62.

Bobby made it through the whole second half, committing only one more foul, and finished with three points, four fouls and six rebounds. Not much to show for an exhausting evening, except for the big prize: a berth in the championship game. That and a hug from Alex were all he needed, he decided, no matter what anyone else thought.

As the stands emptied, the Brooklyn trio bumped into Moran and Macklin again.

"Looks like the big game is on," Moran said with a frosty smile as Szymansky nodded.

"I don't know how big it's gonna be," Patterson said with a harsh laugh. "1PP looked terrible."

"They'll be a different team when they get Logan back," Szymansky observed. "They just needed to survive tonight, and they did."

"Well, Goren was nothing special," Patterson said. "He had more fouls than points."

"He was double-teamed, though, Donnie," Tasby pointed out. "They were so tight on him he couldn't breathe."

"Maybe he won't be breathing against us either," Patterson said with a little smile.

The remark brought a worried frown to Tasby's face, but no one else seemed to notice.


	28. A Tough Week

**Chapter 28: A Tough Week**

Monday morning arrived too early for a weary, battered Bobby. Friday night's game had taken a lot out of him. The constant pounding from the tight double-team had left him with bruises on his chest, back and arms, and despite his natural stubbornness, he recognized the wisdom of Alex's suggestion that he skip the running for a few days.

It seemed that a lot was catching up with him: the pounding from the game, the lingering effects of his encounter with Joey MacGruder and the natural drop in adrenaline after he and Alex solved the Kensington Leonard case. When the quarry was bagged, there was always a bit of a letdown as body and mind relaxed from the excitement of the hunt.

And it didn't help that he had gone from golden boy the week before to the butt of jokes at 1PP.

"Hey, Goren, better not take any vacations. The Port Authority won't let you back in the city."

"Yo, Goren. Is it true the Staten Island Ferry ran over you the last time you went swimming?"

"I hear he's gotta sleep here in the crib because the PAs won't let him cross any bridges to go home."

The first few jests caught him off guard, and though he laughed along, he felt the sting inside. After a while he got used to them, but as the day went on, they grew tiresome.

Alex and Carolyn bristled at a few of the jabs, but Bobby and Mike both cautioned them not to overreact. As Mike explained, it goes with the territory. Part of being out there on the court, playing the game for all the world to see, was that the people sitting safely in the stands could pick at their flaws without exposing any of their own.

"That's sports," Mike said with a shrug as they lunched at a deli a few blocks from 1PP. He took a big bite of his pastrami on rye and chewed thoughtfully. "And a lot of the time, the guys who are the worst athletes are the loudest at trash talking. They feel inadequate because they can't play – or are afraid to risk playing – and they cover it up by poking at the guys who do. Ever been at a Super Bowl party and listened to all those 'experts' criticizing the NFL players' mistakes? Probably not a single one of them could take a hit from a pro and keep playing."

"I guess that makes sense," Carolyn said, frowning and pulling at a loose piece of lettuce on her turkey sandwich. "But it doesn't make it fair. Bobby played really hard all game, and he distracted the Port Authority defense enough to open it up for our other guys to score. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It counts for winning," Mike said with a nod toward Bobby, who ducked his head shyly and fiddled with a potato chip. "The thing about being the game's unsung hero is that, by definition, people don't realize it and don't sing your praises. But the players know that without Bobby's contribution, we wouldn't be in the championship game Saturday night."

"And the knowledgeable fans know," Alex said with a grin and a tap on Carolyn's arm.

With a sly side glance at Alex, Carolyn turned to Mike. "So the statistics don't always tell the story of the game, huh?"

"Exactly," he said with an emphatic nod.

"So just because some guy scores a bunch of points, it doesn't mean he's the best player, no matter how much he brags that he is?" Carolyn said, a grin spreading across her face.

"Ouch!" Mike said with a wince. "Got me."

Laughter filled the air as all four detectives felt just a little lighter. The rest of the afternoon wasn't so bad for Bobby. It was good to be reminded that his friends were on his side, no matter what other people thought.

Practice that evening went smoothly. Mike was allowed back on the court, with his ankle heavily taped, and everyone worked at half speed to help him get back into the flow and to focus on the mental side of their preparations for Brooklyn's Finest. Coach Hunter went over the opponent's tendencies and laid out strategies for taking advantage. Both teams were mostly man-to-man on defense and had accurate outside shooting as well as strength on the boards.

Mike and Patterson, the two shooting guards, would be matched up on the perimeter, and Bobby hoped that being far away under the boards would keep any nastiness to a minimum. But Hunter, warned about the problems between the two, was worried.

"You're going to have to keep your wits about you at all times," the coach told Bobby as they sat on the bench during a water break. "Patterson and his buddies will almost certainly try to bait you into losing your temper. If they can neutralize you, they'll be a huge step closer to the championship."

"I'll be ready. I held it together the whole second half last week," Bobby said earnestly.

"Yes, you did," Hunter acknowledged. "That was crucial, and you got it done. But remember, that was a simple, cold calculation on PA's part. They decided that without Mike, you were the guy they had to stop. Fortunately, it backfired on them. These guys from Brooklyn hate you … or at least one of them does. They'll add venom to the mix, and maybe even cheap shots. And if you retaliate, well, it's always the second blow that is spotted by the officials. But we can't afford to lose you, no matter what they pull."

Bobby nodded, and the serious look in his eyes told Coach Hunter he was getting through. It wasn't going to be easy, but at least the big guy understood what he needed to do – and not to do.

By Wednesday, with the bruises healing and the jokes getting too old for anyone to bother, Bobby was feeling considerably better. Practice that night was spirited, with Mike at full speed – and as cocky and fun-loving as ever. Twice he lobbed passes above the rim for Bobby to dunk, but the timing wasn't quite there. Bobby missed a dunk on the first one and made a layup on the second.

"C'mon, lame ass," Mike hollered with feigned impatience. "Get up there and jam it!"

Bobby just shook his head. "I don't know, Mike. I can't seem to time my jump right."

"You're too tentative. Ya gotta believe."

Bobby nodded, but he didn't look convinced.

"Just pretend you're jamming it down the throat of one of those jerks who's been trash-talking you this week."

That brought a laugh, and the smile stayed on Bobby's face.

A few minutes later, Frankie Lester tossed another lob, and this time Bobby's left hand reached above the rim, his long fingers spread wide to control the ball. He flicked his wrist and managed to redirect the ball through the hoop, though it bumped the inside of the rim on the way down.

Hunter's whistle chirped to stop play, and several players shouted or clapped. "Attaboy, Bobby!" "Woo-hoo!" "Take that, Brooklyn!" "Yeah!"

The coach smiled. "A little awkward, but it'll do."

Bobby tilted his head and looked at the floor, but there was no hiding the ear-to-ear grin over his first dunk.

locilocilociloci

Bobby and Alex spent a snowy, cold Friday morning in the office at 1PP, drinking coffee and wrapping up their paperwork on the Kensington Leonard case. As Alex hit the print button on the last of her forms, Bobby leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms and rolled his neck.

"Feeling OK over there, champ?" Alex asked.

"Yeah, just sitting in one spot too long." He hit his print button too. "That's all of mine. How about yours?"

"Done," she said proudly. "I'll be first out of the printer again. You're too slow, Goren."

"I'm at a disadvantage," he protested. "These itty-bitty keyboards aren't built for a big man's hands. I get all cramped up when I type too long."

Alex shook her head. "Excuses, excuses. You're just tense and restless because you have to wait an extra day for the game this week. We're going to have to find a way for you to burn off some of that energy."

Bobby raised his eyebrows and gazed at her hungrily. "I could think of a few things."

That got a snarky grin. "I'll be you could." Alex rose from her chair, sauntered to the printer and came back with two handfuls of forms. Giving one set to Bobby, she slid hers into a manila folder that was already thick with papers. "I'll take these to the captain," she said, reaching for Bobby's newly fattened folder.

The desk phone rang, and Bobby handed Alex the file with a nod. "Goren," he said as she turned away.

"Hi, Detective. It's Harkness in Property. We've pulled the stuff you requested out of the Kensington Leonard evidence. It's ready to pick up."

"Great. Thanks, Harkness. We'll be right down."

Bobby hurried after Alex and caught up as she entered the captain's office.

"Got your case files finished?"

"Yes, sir," Alex said, stacking the folders on his desk and looking surprised at her partner's appearance.

"Good job. Nice to get that off your plate before the next one comes in. And so you've got a clear mind for tomorrow night's game," Ross added with a smile.

"We've just got one more detail to attend to, Cap," Bobby said. "Property called. They've separated Leslie's personal effects that won't be needed for the case. I thought maybe Eames and I could pick them up and return them to Mr. Leonard this afternoon."

"Sounds good. Maybe they'll be of some comfort."

It turned out to be two boxes' worth of items from the spa – some contents of Leslie's desk and locker that had seemed interesting when the crime scene was first examined but had ended up having no bearing on the case. The detectives loaded the boxes into the SUV, and after ducking into a midtown diner for a hot lunch, they were right on time to meet Leonard at home at 2 p.m.

The restaurateur greeted them at the door and welcomed them into his living room. He indicated a table, and they unburdened themselves of the boxes there. Then he motioned them to seats on the sofa and offered coffee, which they politely declined. As he leaned against the sideboard and stirred his own cup, he seemed subdued, and he spoke quietly. "My world has been turned upside down by all this, but I do want to thank you for finding Leslie's killer."

"You're welcome, Mr. Leonard," Alex answered for them. "We're just sorry that some painful things came out of the investigation."

"I suppose that happens a lot in your business, doesn't it?" he asked, and they noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed.

"Unfortunately so, sir," Bobby replied. "The truth is often painful when it comes to light."

"How do you not end up being cynical when you see so much of this? How do you go on when you see relationships broken and horrible crimes committed? You've probably been at this for years, haven't you? Years of misery and unspeakable tragedy. Even though it's strangers, it must affect you."

"Sometimes it is very hard," Alex mused, nodding. "I guess we just keep refocusing on the good things, the simple things, when we can. We try to get justice for the victims and the survivors, and we hope that getting some sort of resolution helps them to move forward."

"And for ourselves, we keep finding fresh things in life to appreciate," Bobby said, with a glance that met Alex's eyes. "Even after all these years of police work, we still find new things to experience, to feel good about. There's a future out there, and we just have to grab hold and make it a good one."

A soft smile from Alex at that remark went unnoticed by Leonard, who was thoughtfully considering the detectives' insights. He sighed. "It may be awhile yet before I feel good about moving forward. But I hope you're right. I hope someday I can do that."

The detectives sensed it was time to go and rose to excuse themselves. As Leonard escorted them to the door, he said, "You're welcome anytime at my restaurant. Just tell them you are my guests."

"Thank you, sir," Bobby said politely. Alex nodded.

Moments later they were out on the sidewalk, strolling toward the SUV. Though it was midafternoon, the chill in the air seemed to be keeping pedestrian traffic to a minimum. Bobby glanced across the street and found himself looking up to the top of Judge Garrison's building and remembering the day he was injured. He paused, and so did Alex, following his gaze. "That was a close call up there," he said.

"Well, thank goodness you had me to rescue you," Alex said, smiling and briefly rubbing his back. Even through the heavy overcoat, he felt warmed by her hand. He met her smile and replied firmly, "Always."

As they resumed walking, Bobby noticed out of the corner of his eye a large figure in a gray coat at the entrance to an alley just ahead of them. He sensed the man was watching them, so Bobby turned his head and looked directly at him. And stopped in his tracks. Alex took a step, but Bobby grabbed her arm tightly enough to stop her too. Confused, she looked up at him and then turned to see what he was looking at.

As her eyes widened in recognition, she heard Bobby say softly, "Joey MacGruder."


	29. The Carrot and the Stick

**Chapter 29: The Carrot and the Stick**

Joey stood very still, staring at Bobby. He tilted his head slightly, and Bobby tilted his head the opposite way. At least 10 seconds went by, as Alex looked back and forth at them. Finally her partner smiled softly and quietly said, "Hi, Joey."

The young man took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height, his back against the bricks of the alley wall. Alex swallowed hard. The kid had to be 6-8 or 6-9, and at that height he could carry his 300-plus pounds without looking too soft. She had grown comfortable with her partner's size over the years, but she felt dwarfed by Joey MacGruder.

"Hi, Bobby," he said, a note of anxiety in his tone.

Bobby's smile grew wider. "You remember me," he said, nodding approvingly and taking a few tentative steps toward their prey.

"Uh-huh. You're the policeman."

"That's right; I am. And this is my friend Alex," Bobby said, inclining his head toward her but not taking his eyes off Joey.

The young man's face grew dark as he frowned. "I can't find my friend," he said, eyes downcast.

"You mean Julie?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, she went away. Her parents won't tell me where she is. They looked scared of me. They've never been scared of me before," he said.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Joey," Bobby said, moving a few steps closer. "You know, we're pretty good at finding people."

"Really?" Joey said, brightening. "You think you could find Julie?"

"Maybe," Bobby said, looking pensive. "We might need your help, though."

"I'll help!" he said firmly. "But you would let me? After I hurt you?" Joey pointed to the gash, which was healing nicely but still showed a thin red outline on Bobby's forehead.

"Oh, it's OK," Bobby said with a reassuring smile. "Just a little cut. I'm fine."

"I didn't really want to hurt you. I just got scared."

"Yeah, I figured that," Bobby soothed, nodding and moving to just a few feet from Joey. He had eased forward so gracefully that Joey hadn't felt threatened, and now the partners had set themselves between the young giant and the sidewalk, so that no pedestrians could be endangered by an outburst.

Alex was following Bobby's lead, and she wasn't surprised that her partner made no attempt to grab their suspect. Instead, he kept talking calmly.

"We have lots of computers and stuff back at our office," Bobby said. "We feed in all sorts of information, and the computers tell us places to look. But we have to know lots of things about the person to make the computers work right."

"I know lots of stuff about Julie!" Joey said confidently. "Some of it's secret, though. We're friends, and friends share secrets."

Bobby's smile grew warmer. "I know. Alex and I share some secrets too." He risked a quick glance to meet her eyes and was rewarded with a look of trust and a trace of a smile. He knew she would sense how to help him handle this situation. Getting Joey to go along quietly would be safer for bystanders and physically easier, but a slipup could be costly. Thank goodness the weather was keeping the streets from being crowded. Most cops would try to subdue the suspect and call for backup, but both partners knew that trying to take down this large young man could be disastrous. So they followed their instincts.

"We might share some of our secrets with you, but we won't tell them out here in the street. We talk about secret things when we're in our special place back at the office," Bobby said.

"I wanna go," Joey said eagerly. "We can be friends and share secrets and find Julie."

"Is that OK with you, Alex?" Bobby asked politely. "Can we all go back to the office and talk?"

"Sure, Bobby," Alex said, putting a hand on his arm affectionately. "Joey can come too."

Joey's face lit up, and after Alex pointed to where the SUV was parked, Joey practically skipped over to it. Bobby opened a door and Joey scrambled into the rear passenger seat. The detectives quickly climbed into the vehicle and headed back to 1PP.

As they pulled away from the curb, Alex slid her fingers into the purse at her side and slipped out her cell phone. "I'll just call our boss and let him know we're coming so he can get our computers warmed up."

"Great idea, Alex," Bobby said with a smile. He turned to Joey. "You'll like our boss. He has two sons who are just a little younger than you."

"Hi, Captain. It's Alex," she said when Ross answered the phone. "I just wanted to let you know that Bobby and I are bringing someone back to the office. His name is Joey MacGruder. He can't find a friend of his, so we're going to use our computers and see if we can help. … Yes, Captain, that's right. … Yes, everything's fine. He's excited to help us figure out where his friend Julie is. … No, no problem. We'll just bring him up to the office, if that's OK with you."

"Maybe he should let Joey's parents know where he is," Bobby interjected. "So they won't worry."

"Uh, Captain, Bobby thinks it would be good to let Joey's parents know. Yeah, better in the long run … OK. Thanks, Captain. Bye."

Alex snapped the phone shut and smiled at their passenger in the rearview mirror. "All set, Joey."

"Great," he said happily.

Twenty minutes later, after scores of questions from Bobby about Julie to keep Joey distracted, they were pulling into a space in the 1PP garage. They stopped in the lobby to get a visitor's pass, and the young man was fascinated as he looked around at the posters and notices on the walls. Only a few cops were in the lobby, all looking busy but each one ready in case Joey panicked. But everything went smoothly, and soon they were stepping out of the elevator on the 11th floor. Joey's eyes were wide as he walked into the bullpen. Plainclothes officers with guns strapped on were scattered around the room, sitting at their desks, leaning against the furniture, talking on the phone. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Ross popped out of his office immediately and strode over to greet them.

"Hi, I'm Captain Ross. You must be Joey MacGruder," he said with a smile, extending his hand.

"Hi!" Joey said, shaking the hand vigorously. "So you're Bobby's boss, huh?"

"That's right. And Alex's. She said you're looking for your friend Julie."

"Uh-huh."

Ross glanced at Bobby, a frown briefly crossing his face. "We're probably going to need some more detectives to help find her. Maybe you two can get Joey settled while Detectives Patterson and Kowalski get back here."

Bobby nodded. "Of course. Are Joey's parents on the way too?"

"Yes, they'll be here shortly, with their lawyer."

"Good. We need to get it right. No problems in court later, with faculties being an issue," Bobby said firmly.

"Don't worry. There'll be proper representation," Ross confirmed.

"So, Joey, would you like something to drink?" Alex asked.

"Mmmm. Can I have a 7-Up?"

"Sure," Bobby said. "Any candy or chips?"

"Do you have M&Ms?"

"Yeah," Bobby said. "Alex likes Skittles."

"I like those, but I like M&Ms better," Joey said. "Especially the ones with peanuts inside!"

"I'll see if we have that kind. Meanwhile, why don't you sit at my desk while we wait for help?" Bobby said.

Alex got Joey settled as Bobby went to the machines in the corridor just outside the bullpen. Ross followed. "Goren, what the hell is going on?" he hissed as soon as they were out of earshot. "You had no business getting in the middle of this, and Patterson is probably going to blow a gasket over it."

Bobby looked at his boss, astonished. "Getting in the middle? How was I supposed to know he was going to be standing in an alley practically waiting for us when we walked by? We were just returning those personal effects to Leonard, not trying to horn in on Patterson's case!"

Ross looked baffled. "You didn't hear the radio bulletin and go looking for him?"

"What bulletin?"

"He showed up at Judge Garrison's door looking for the daughter. Nearly scared the judge and his wife to death. They know there's a warrant for his arrest for assaulting you. As soon as he left, the judge called the police. Patterson and Kowalski were on their way over, and all the cops in the area were looking for him. So, of course, you two had to find him by accident," Ross finished, shaking his head.

"Honestly, Captain, it was just dumb luck. We must have missed the bulletin while we were talking to Leonard. We happened to be at the right place at the right time." Goren frowned. "Or maybe the wrong place, if this is going to mess things up."

Ross shrugged resignedly. "No, not the wrong place. Patterson never would have gotten MacGruder to hop in the car and ride down to 1PP voluntarily. You two did a hell of a job."

Goren smiled as he turned to the candy machine and dug into his pocket for change. "Yeah, I guess subtlety isn't Patterson's M.O."

Two sets of empty pockets later, Ross and Goren returned with their hands full of Diet Cokes, a 7-Up, Skittles and peanut M&Ms. Joey grabbed his bag and ripped it open, filling his cheeks with candy and popping open his drink.

"Hungry, huh?" Bobby observed with a smile. Joey grinned, still chewing, and nodded. The detectives waited quietly while the young man devoured his snack. Alex had just suggested that they move into an "interview room" – indicating the interrogation area – when Patterson and Kowalski burst into the bullpen.

Patterson was red-faced and scowling. Kowalski, a step behind, looked frustrated and anxious. He met Bobby's eyes and gave a quick palms-up gesture and a shake of his head.

"Goren, you son of a bitch! Who the hell do you think you are, butting into my case again?" Patterson bellowed. "I'll arrest my own damn suspects and do my own interrogations. I don't need you in the middle of it, screwing everything up."

Bobby wisely kept silent as Ross stepped between the two men. "Nobody has been arrested, Detective. Mr. MacGruder is here voluntarily, and there's been no interrogation. Just calm down."

Patterson looked from Ross to Bobby to MacGruder, who seemed confused by the sudden outburst. The detective took a breath, fixed a stare on Bobby and lowered his voice to a snarl. "Guess I'm just in time. I wouldn't want you to find a way to get him off the hook for this murder, just because he's a dummy."

"I'M NOT A DUMMY!" Joey thundered, jumping up. He hadn't understood the whole conversation, but he knew that word was directed at him; he had heard it way too often. Bobby quickly moved in front of him. "It's OK, Joey. He didn't mean it," he told the young man, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly.

Patterson started toward them, but Ross grabbed his arm and tugged him away. "Let's all just calm down and wait for the parents to get here. Then you can take charge of the interrogation. Goren isn't going to be involved." Ross turned to Bobby and Alex. "Maybe you two could take Joey to another room to finish your snacks," he said, nodding toward the interrogation room. "Just casual, no questioning."

"Got it, Captain," Alex said, coming around the desk and glaring at Patterson. Then she turned to Joey and smiled. "We can keep working on finding Julie, can't we?" Joey looked wary, but he nodded and gathered up his treats. The three headed for interrogation, with Patterson's angry eyes boring into Bobby's back.

Ross herded the other two detectives into his office to wait for the parents and the lawyer. He sighed. Better go over the ground rules too, he thought. The detectives would need to be careful questioning the young man with mental disabilities – if the lawyer even allowed any questioning. This one wasn't going to be easy.

Ross shook his head as he found himself wishing Goren and Eames were on the case and not Patterson. In something like this, their sensitivity would no doubt help them wrap it up smoothly, just as they had brought the young man in without incident. Instead, Ross would have to live with however Patterson and Kowalski handled it, and smoothly was not the description that came to mind. But it was their case, and he had to let them do their jobs.

A wry smile crossed Ross' face. He had come a long way from the early days when he didn't trust Goren. He wondered how long it would take for Patterson to earn his trust, as the big detective had. And he hoped the next few hours wouldn't destroy any chance for that to happen.


	30. Bad Cop

**Chapter 30: Bad Cop**

Bobby leaned his forehead against the observation glass and sighed. "I really don't think Patterson is the right guy for this interview, Captain."

Ross frowned. "It's his case, Detective. If I yank him off an interrogation, I'm telling him he doesn't belong at Major Case. And I have no reason to do that. His record at Brooklyn homicide was superb. He should be able to handle this."

"He has no sympathy for Joey's intellectual disability," Bobby insisted, turning palms up to his captain. Eames snorted. "He has no sympathy for anyone but himself," she observed.

Ross glanced at her and then turned back to Goren. "Maybe he just has no sympathy for murderers," he countered bluntly. "You said yourself that you believe MacGruder did it. If Patterson wants to play bad cop and can still get a confession out of him, that's his choice. Not everybody is as well-suited for the good cop routine as you are, Detective."

Bobby shook his head. "It's not just about the confession, Captain. It's about justice. Joey is huge and strong, and he gets scared or angry and loses his temper, and then he's a danger to whoever made him scared or angry. But he is limited in his cognitive abilities. He doesn't have the capacity to understand the consequences of his actions. I don't think he meant to kill anyone, and I don't think he really meant to hurt me. He just lost control."

"And people need to be protected from that loss of control," said Carver, striding into the room and closing the door behind him. "We have him cold for assaulting a police officer, and I think we've got enough blood evidence from that air conditioning vent that I can get a murder one conviction at trial. A confession would be icing on the cake. He's going away for a long, long time. I don't want him to be in a position to hurt any more law-abiding citizens. I just heard you acknowledge he's a danger."

"I'm not saying we should let him go. But a plea bargain for manslaughter would be best for all concerned," Bobby replied.

"Manslaughter? I think that's a little premature," Carver said. "I'd like to see what Detective Patterson can get out of him with two major felony charges hanging over him. At the most I'll consider second-degree murder."

"Mr. Carver, I don't want him to be prosecuted for attacking me. Offer to give that one up. Get him to plead to manslaughter; it's the right charge. There's diminished capacity here. He didn't plan this. Promise his family that he'll serve his time in a mental health unit, so he'll be safe from predators and can get into a program to help him with his temper. You know people with mental disabilities and mental illness are the most vulnerable inmates in the penal system."

"I want more leverage, Detective. We'll talk about a plea after Patterson gets something damning out of him."

"Or maybe pushes him into another rage? So he hurts someone or is hurt himself?" Bobby asked, his voice rising in anger. "So you have his rage on tape for a jury to see?"

"I'm sure Detective Patterson can keep the situation under control," Carver said. Ross remained silent, not willing to express doubts about one of his own detectives to an outsider.

As Bobby seethed, Alex put a hand on his forearm. "We're not going to win this one," she told him quietly. He gritted his teeth and shook his head. "Joey deserves a fair shake."

"He'll get one," Ross said, his tone turning sharp. "And so will his victims and potential victims. You can stay in here and watch while Patterson and Kowalski do their jobs, or you can go back to your desks. Or go home. It's past quitting time."

Bobby took a deep breath and turned back to the two-way mirror. Alex met the captain's eyes. "We'll stay."

Carver nodded and left. A few minutes later, the interrogation room door opened, and Joey, his lawyer and his parents were joined by Patterson, Kowalski and Carver. Bobby couldn't remember ever doing an interrogation with so many people in such a small space.

Ross, his mind on the same track, risked a comment. "Part of being fair – we let him have his parents present, just as if he were a juvenile."

"He is, Captain," Alex asserted. "He's like an oversized kid. Anyone who talks to him should know that."

"That oversized kid put your partner in the hospital," Ross pointed out.

Alex bristled. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't care about my partner?"

"Easy, Eames," Bobby said soothingly. "At least one of us needs to keep a cool head, and I'm not very good at that."

The remark broke the tension as Alex stifled a laugh. The three stopped sparring and started watching the interrogation unfold.

Patterson eyed his prey scornfully. "Everybody seems to think you deserve special treatment, Joey-boy. But I don't think you're special at all. I'm not particularly fond of cold-blooded killers, myself."

Joey looked confused and anxious. He sensed that the detective was angry, but he didn't know why. "I thought we were going to try to find Julie," he said plaintively.

"Your friends Alex and Bobby are looking into that," Kowalski interjected. Joey brightened, but Patterson turned and scowled at his partner. Kowalski shrugged and shut up. He was used to playing second fiddle to a partner, but it sure wasn't easy with a guy like this.

"I don't think Julie is going to want to talk to you," Patterson said, a cruel smile turning up a corner of his mouth. "She doesn't hang out with murderers."

Joey's lawyer sat up a little straighter and glared at the detective. "We agreed to let Joey talk to you because we want to get all this cleared up. If you have questions, ask them. We'll talk about what he can answer. But if you're just here to insult him, I'm going to call a halt to this session."

"Mr. Barrett, we have a detective first grade who will testify that your client attacked him with a gardening shovel," Carver said. "And we have a mountain of evidence that he murdered Mr. Barnes. Your client needs to help himself here by cooperating with us. Halting this interview would be a mistake."

Patterson leaned across the table and stared at Joey. "You had a thing for Julie, didn't you? You wanted her."

"She's my best friend," Joey said firmly.

"Don't give me that 'best friend' crap. I know how you felt about her. That gorgeous blonde hair and that lithe young body. You were dying to get in her pants."

"Her pants?" Joey looked puzzled.

"You wanted to have sex with her!"

"Sex?" Joey asked blankly.

"Yeah, and you couldn't stand it that she was doing Tommy Barnes instead of you. You were on the roof early that morning, weren't you? You saw her and Tommy together, having sex, and you were jealous."

The lawyer interrupted. "Detective, it's clear that Joey doesn't understand what you're talking about. This is a waste of time," he said, looking at Carver.

"Bullshit!" Patterson said. "He may not know the words, but he knows the feelings. He's got a man's body, and being a retard doesn't change that."

"Don't you call my son that!" Dave MacGruder said angrily as his wife flinched at the hated term.

"I am not! I am smart!" Joey said, starting to rise. Behind the glass, Bobby tensed as well.

The lawyer put a hand on his client's arm. "It's OK, Joey. He didn't mean it."

Patterson laughed harshly. "Did I hurt your feelings, Joey-boy? Does that word make you angry?"

Joey shuddered and hung his head, frowning.

"Well, you calmed down quickly there, but after all, a word doesn't hurt as much as a betrayal, does it?"

Joey looked up, puzzled again.

"You trusted Julie to be your friend. You had feelings for her. You wanted to express those feelings. Your body was telling you to do things to her, with her. And then you saw someone else doing those things with her, and you got jealous. Murderously jealous. And so you waited until Julie went back down to her apartment, and you grabbed Tommy Barnes and threw him off the roof."

"Joey, don't say anything," Barrett told him. "Gentlemen, my client is not capable of premeditation, and you should know that."

Joey shook his head. "He made her yell."

"What?" Dave MacGruder said, startled. He hadn't believed that his son really committed the crime.

Joey turned to his dad. "They were kissing, and then he started taking her clothes off. And then … then he was hurting her. She kept moaning and crying out. And then they kissed some more."

"You were watching, just like I said," Patterson said, nodding and closing in for the kill.

"I wanted to help her."

"But you didn't do anything right away. You just watched."

"I didn't understand. One minute she was moaning and the next she was laughing and kissing him. Why would she do that after he hurt her?"

"He wasn't hurting her, and you know it. They were having sex and enjoying it. That's what you wanted to do. But you knew you could never trade places with Tommy Barnes. Julie wanted him, not you, so you killed him. You knew she'd never want to have sex with a dummy like you."

"Don't call me a dummy!" Joey yelled, rising again.

"Or what? Do you want to kill me too?" Patterson taunted, rising as well. "You'll never see Julie again. You're a murdering retard, and everyone knows it!"

"NO!" Joey shouted, his face red with fury. He reached across the table and grabbed Patterson by the lapels, and chaos erupted. Kowalski jumped up and rounded the table, trying to bear hug Joey from behind. The lawyer and the parents retreated to a corner. Carver, closest to the door, yanked it open, knowing help was only a few steps outside.

Two uniformed cops, Bobby, Alex and Ross rushed into the room. Joey had let go of Patterson and backed into the wall, smashing Kowalski against it. Enraged, he swung side to side, banging the veteran cop into the concrete blocks until his grip loosened and he fell to the floor. Joey then threw a punch at one of the uniforms that landed on his nose, bringing a sickening crunch and a spurt of blood. As the cop staggered backward, Bobby tackled Joey high and Patterson hit him low, and they managed to knock the young giant off his feet.

As they wrestled on the floor, Alex put a knee in his back, and she and the other uniform got an arm behind him. She snapped on a cuff and then pushed him forward a little, freeing his other arm. Yanking it closer, she closed the other cuff around his wrist. Even with his hands secured behind him, Joey kept struggling, trying to drive his shoulders into the two men holding onto him. He caught Patterson right on the chin, dazing the detective.

"C'mon, Joey, calm down!" Bobby yelled, desperately keeping his grip on the young man. "I can't help you if you fight." He dropped the volume a notch and tried again. "Stop it, Joey. This won't help." Another notch down. "Easy, man. Don't do this. You're hurting people." Then Bobby spoke in a soothing tone. "I know you don't want to hurt people. You're a good guy, Joey."

Suddenly Joey stilled, and Bobby saw tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry!" he wailed. "I didn't mean to hurt anybody."

"It's OK, Joey," Bobby said, turning the grip around his shoulders into a hug. "I know you didn't."

Joey sobbed. "I didn't understand. I thought he hurt her, but I wasn't sure. Then she left. I waited a minute and then I went to talk to him. I told him she was my friend, and he shouldn't hurt her. But he laughed at me. He called me a dummy. And I hit him. And he hit me… and I pushed him and … he stumbled back … and I pushed him again … and he went flying into space. And he was gone." The young giant was wracked by great sobs.

"It's OK, Joey. You told the truth, and that's important," Bobby said, patting him on the back. "Now we can get it all straightened out." He looked up at Carver, who frowned but nodded. With the tape rolling and a cop assuring all who would see it that the young man was truthful, this was going to end up as manslaughter.

Bobby struggled to get to his feet, and he and Alex helped Joey up. The not-so-gentle giant still had tears rolling down his cheeks, but he was quiet. "I'm counting on you not to do any more fighting," Bobby told him. "You'll have to spend some time in a cell tonight. The officers will take the handcuffs off and get fingerprints and photos, and it's very important that you don't get upset, OK?"

"OK, Bobby. I promise. Do you still think you can find Julie? And tell her I'm sorry? I didn't mean to hurt her other friend."

"I'll do that, Joey. I promise."

Three officers led him away, with lawyer and parents in tow. Patterson was sitting on the floor, holding his jaw and glaring at Bobby, who was pointedly ignoring him. Kowalski and the uniform with the broken nose were more or less standing, with help from the wall and the table.

"Detective Patterson, are you all right?" Ross asked, aware that the other two clearly weren't.

Patterson rubbed his jaw and climbed to his feet. He nodded. "Except for having my murder one case blown by Detective Perp Lover, I'm fine." Bobby stared impassively at Alex, refusing the bait.

"OK, then take these other two to the hospital. I want all three of you to get checked out. Officer Taylor definitely needs attention, and you and your partner look pretty shaky to me."

"Hey, I'm not an ambulance driver."

"You are today. That's an order. I want you out of here. You can do the paperwork later."

Patterson weighed the merits and decided that delaying the paperwork was worth it. The three shuffled out of the interrogation room.

As soon as the door closed, Bobby let out his breath and dropped into a chair that miraculously was still upright. As Ross and Alex turned toward him, he cradled his right wrist against his chest. "Bobby?" Alex asked, leaning in with a hand on his shoulder.

"I think I need some ice," her partner responded quietly, flexing his fingers and wincing as he unbuttoned the cuff. Alex could see that his wrist was red and already swelling.

"That needs to be checked too, Detective. Why didn't you say something?" Ross asked with a touch of annoyance.

"You really want me riding to the hospital with Patterson?"

"No," the captain said with a sigh. "But that doesn't mean you don't need treatment."

"I'm calling Coach Hunter. I don't want word about this to get out. Patterson doesn't need to know about any extra weak spots when we play tomorrow night."

"Play? Bobby, you've reinjured your wrist! How can you play?" Alex asked.

"Just let me keep my options open, Eames," he said quietly. Alex was tempted to lay into him, but seeing his furrowed brow, she knew he was uncertain. She decided not to engage his stubbornness if there was a chance he would come to the right conclusion on his own.

Alex glanced at Ross, who nodded his assent. "Better see about that ice, Eames."

As she left the room, Bobby resumed flexing his fingers and tried to rotate his wrist. Pain shot through it as he turned it slightly. "Damn!" He stared at it and shook his head. "Damn," he said again, his voice a little softer but clouded with frustration. "Why now? Of all times, why now?"


	31. A Setback

**Chapter 31: A Setback**

In a few minutes, Alex was back with a cold pack from among the medical supplies in the break room. Ross had helped Bobby out of his suit jacket, and his right sleeve was rolled up almost to his elbow. He lay his bare forearm on the resettled table, and Alex carefully shaped the cold pack around his wrist. Bobby winced and gritted his teeth at the slight weight and the sudden chill.

"Did anyone see you?" he asked her.

"No, there's still a lot of confusion out there. I made myself as small as I could and just slipped past them," Alex said with a grin.

A slight smile ghosted across Bobby's face, but it stopped far short of his eyes. Alex saw despair there, and a deep pain stabbed her heart. More than any carefully reasoned arguments he could have mustered, those eyes cried out how much this meant. And suddenly she understood. Not on a logical level, but on a gut level. And in that moment, the fight in her switched sides. She zeroed in on one thought: Somehow she had to help him be on the court at tipoff the next night.

"Is it the same spot you hurt the last time you and Joey fought?" she asked gently.

"It wasn't much of a fight that time. He clobbered me and left," Bobby said with a shake of his head. "Yeah, the same damn spot. Only it feels worse now."

"Well, last time you were dazed by that head injury. Maybe you're just more aware of it this time," Alex pointed out. "Give the cold pack a chance to work, and then let's see how it is."

She laid a hand gently on his shoulder and leaned down to meet his eyes. "We've got more than 24 hours until game time. That's a lot of time to heal."

Bobby looked up at her and saw the same encouragement in her eyes that he heard in her voice. He felt his despair melting away, replaced with wonder and hope. He looked at her questioningly.

She smiled. "You've got enough ahead of you without fighting me too. Let's work on this together and see what we can do." His grateful grin was just the reward she needed for saying the right thing.

Ross cleared his throat. "So how do you want to handle this? There's a room full of detectives out there, and that's a pretty good rumor mill."

Bobby shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe ice it for a while and then just walk out like nothing happened."

"I could put the cold pack away later," Ross offered. "In fact, I could make it look as if it were for me."

Bobby nodded appreciatively. "I guess I'll probably have to play with it taped, but the longer they're unaware I have a problem, the less time they'll have to plan strategy."

About 15 minutes later, Bobby and Alex walked out of interrogation nonchalantly. Stopping at their desks, they donned their coats and Alex grabbed her purse. As Bobby slid his right arm into the sleeve of his overcoat, he kept his head down and his face expressionless. Alex saw the muscle in his jaw tense, but no one else noticed. They quickly headed for the elevators and the SUV.

Having phoned ahead, their next stop was Coach Hunter's house in the Bronx. They pulled up behind a glistening midnight blue 1956 Ford pickup, which momentarily distracted them both.

"Nice ride," Bobby observed as he admired the view from next to the passenger's door.

"Thanks, son," a gravelly voice responded from the porch. "It gets me where I need to go."

"Mr. McKinney!" Bobby said, startled, as he turned around. "What are you doing here?"

"Coach Hunter called me. We can't very well let 1PP's most versatile big man miss the championship game, now, can we?"

"No, sir," Bobby replied, grinning widely.

"OK, then. Get in here, and let's have a look at that wrist."

They followed their noses to the breakfast table in Coach Hunter's kitchen. Or, more precisely, Claire Hunter's kitchen. A pot of coffee was brewing, and a baking sheet covered with chocolate chip cookies was cooling on the counter.

"Care for some coffee, folks?" Claire asked. "This batch of cookies is just about cool enough to eat."

Appreciative nods and murmurs greeted her invitation. Stitch set his bag on the table and indicated a chair for Bobby. By the time Claire had the coffee poured, Stitch was well into the poking and prodding that he was known for. Bobby gritted his teeth and refused to cry out as Stitch pressed on a particularly sensitive spot. "That hurts somethin' fierce, doesn't it?" he asked, looking Bobby in the eyes.

Bobby frowned and looked away. "Not so bad I wouldn't play with it," he insisted.

Alex, leaning against the stove, read her partner's face over Stitch's shoulder: frustration, defensiveness and that despair creeping in again.

"It's possible there's a fracture there," Stitch said grimly. "Can't tell without an X-ray."

"Damn!" Coach Hunter said, shaking his head. "I guess we better call Doc Hadley and find out for sure."

"Wait a minute," Bobby said quickly. "If it's fractured, won't he put a cast on it? They won't let me play in a cast."

"Bobby, you can't play with a broken wrist," Hunter said.

"We don't know it's broken. What if we just tape it up really well? At least let me try to play."

"Stitch, what are the dangers?"

"Well, if it is fractured, I don't think it's too bad. It doesn't feel like it's displaced. It could fracture more and get out of alignment. If that happens, he's sure not gonna feel like finishing the game. But unless he falls or gets smacked right on that spot, I don't see it getting much worse. The sprain is probably more serious than the fracture at this point."

Alex met Bobby's eyes and smiled reassuringly. "Then it seems to me he could see Dr. Hadley after the game, right?"

Bobby gave her a huge grin and then turned to Hunter, squaring his shoulders. "I can do this, Coach. I don't want to miss this game."

Hunter rubbed his cheek and thought for a minute. "You'll be fighting through a lot of pain."

"Maybe I could get some help with that." He turned to Stitch. "A shot or something?"

"You mean Novocaine?" Stitch asked, frowning. "No, sir. You could tear that wrist up bad and not feel a thing until it's too late. And no NYPD doctor would go for that."

"How about ethyl chloride?" Hunter asked.

Stitch nodded. "That I can do."

"What's ethyl chloride?" Alex asked.

"A miracle spray," Stitch said. "Puts a big chill on the pain, but it's not so invasive."

"You've seen it used, Eames," Bobby told her. Turning to the others, he explained, "She's a baseball fan." And then back to her, "When a guy gets hit with a pitch and the trainer sprays stuff on the area and the guy is able to shake off the pain and stay in the game, that's ethyl chloride."

Alex nodded. "Yeah, I've seen that. OK, so we have a plan."

"Right," Stitch agreed. "Tonight and tomorrow, lots of ice and ibuprofen. A nice, tight bandage for compression. And just before game time, spray and tape."

Everyone nodded. Bobby and Coach Hunter looked relieved. "Those cookies sure do smell good, Mrs. Hunter," Bobby said hopefully, feeling his appetite start to return.

"Well, I think you'd better have a couple," Claire Hunter replied, holding out a plate stacked high with huge, soft ovals loaded with chocolate chips. "I think these are the best medicine of all."

Biting into one, Bobby wasn't about to disagree.

As they left Coach Hunter's house, Bobby called Mike to fill him in.

"Damn, Goren. You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?" Mike said. "Hang on. I gotta tell Carolyn." Bobby heard muffled voices as Mike relayed the news of Bobby's injury while holding the phone against his chest. "Carolyn says to get your asses over here now. She's made enough spaghetti for four, and she thinks you and Alex could use some comfort food."

"Is spaghetti comfort food?" Bobby asked.

"It is for me," Mike declared. Just then Carolyn grabbed his phone. "Bobby?"

"Yes?"

"Seriously, you two get over here. I know Alex is going to want to look after you, and she'll have more energy to do that if she doesn't have to worry about cooking and cleaning up."

"But you shouldn't have to do all that."

"Don't worry. The cooking's almost done, and I'll make Mike do the dishes."

Bobby grinned. "OK, we'll be there in 20."

Soon after, they were at the door of Carolyn's apartment. Mike opened it and helped them out of their coats. Bobby had his arm in a sling, and when Mike saw it, his eyes got big. "Holy shit, Goren. Are you sure you can play?"

"This is to make sure I can. I'm going to baby it right up until time to go to the game. Then it'll just have to man up and do its job," Bobby said, staring at the offending wrist.

Mike laughed and shook his head. "You know something? I'm starting to think you're finding some competitive instincts after all."

"He just can't bear to miss a chance to wipe the court with Patterson," Carolyn said with a wry smile as she stepped into the hallway to greet her guests. "Hi, guys. Dinner is on the table. Let's eat."

"I'm starving," Alex said. "Thanks for having us over."

The foursome settled into familiar spots, and Alex heaped spaghetti on a plate for Bobby. As they ate their fill, the conversation was relaxed and spiced with laughter. It helped take Bobby's mind off his injury and lifted everyone's spirits. By the time the group had emptied plates, shared slices of cake and finished off a bottle of wine, the last wisps of worry had melted from Bobby's face. Aside from slipping an ice pack into his sling for about 10 minutes every hour, he barely paid attention to his injury. And as the evening wound down and it was time to leave, he was downright upbeat.

Alex couldn't help but grin as they put their coats back on. "Thanks, you two," she said, giving Mike and Carolyn each a hug. "I can take it from here."

"Just remember: no funny business," Mike told Bobby sternly. "Save all your energy for the game."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Bobby said in a sour tone. Then he smiled at Carolyn. "Thanks again. We'll pick you up at 4:30 tomorrow."

Back in the SUV, they headed to Alex's place. "You think you'll be able to sleep OK?" she asked.

"I'll need some more ibuprofen. And I'm going to ditch the sling. But yeah, I hope so. I am pretty tired."

"It's been a long day," Alex observed.

"But I have a feeling it'll be a longer night tomorrow," Bobby said with a sigh.


	32. The Big Stage

**Chapter 32: The Big Stage**

Alex exited the Henry Hudson Parkway and navigated the slushy streets of Washington Heights to the Hudson University campus. She steered the SUV carefully onto the driveway that circled the Events Center and found the small parking lot nestled amid bare trees on the north side. A teen in a crimson and gray Hudson jacket, shoulders hunched against the chilly breeze, eyed the light blue placard on the dashboard and directed them to the next-to-last row.

As soon as the vehicle stopped, Bobby reached across with his left hand and awkwardly opened his door, shoving his bandaged right hand deep in his coat pocket. He stepped out, grabbed his gym bag with his left hand and let Mike slam his door shut. The foursome started up the sidewalk to the building's northeast entrance, where simple theater-style metal doors and a security guard waited.

"Players' entrance, right?" Mike asked the guard.

"Yeah, got your passes?"

Mike and Bobby dug into their pockets and produced theirs, and Carolyn and Alex presented their tickets. The guard opened the door and waved them through.

As metal clanged shut behind them, Alex looked surprised. "He didn't tear our tickets."

Mike smiled. "Yeah, that happens when you come in with the players. You don't really need tickets back here. He just wants to make sure everyone's legit."

Bobby had edged ahead of the group in the semi-dark hallway that led to the locker rooms. "Guess we're early," he said, a trace of an echo following his words.

"Not by much," Mike replied. "Coach said to be here at 5:15, and it's just after 5."

The sound of a ball smacking off hardwood reached their ears, and Bobby made his way toward it, finding the wider tunnel that led to the court at a corner, where end line and sideline seats met. He stepped out into the brightness of the arena, blinked a few times and then looked up in wonder at rows of seats, an aisle and more rows above them disappearing into the rafters. When the other three caught up with him, they all stood quietly, looking around and inhaling a faint aroma of dried sweat and stale popcorn.

A boyish-looking athlete in Hudson sweats was shooting at the far basket, and a kid who couldn't have been more than 12 was retrieving balls for him. For one shot after another, the Hudson player jumped and fired, and shot after shot fell cleanly through the net, with nothing but the sound of leather stretching twine to accompany each success. The boy grabbed the ball as it dropped through and passed it back to the athlete, and the process repeated as the shooter worked his way in a semicircle about 18 feet from the basket.

After a dozen shots, Carolyn elbowed Mike. "He shoots like you do."

"Let's hope I'm that hot tonight," he mused, staring at the young athlete and remembering his college days, when he'd spent many an afternoon doing the same thing.

As Mike turned away, he noticed the look in Bobby's eyes as he stared up and around, turning 360 degrees to take it all in. "Hey, man, it's not Madison Square Garden," Mike said with a smile.

"Yeah, but it's way bigger than anything I've ever played in," Bobby said. "This place must hold, what, 8,000?"

"Just a little more than that, I think. And it'll be full tonight," Mike replied. "This benefits kids' sports programs all over the city, so civilians turn out, not just cops."

Bobby took a deep breath. "It sure feels different when you're going to be the watched rather than the watcher."

Mike laughed. "Well, let's just make sure that the watchees give the watchers an eyeful." Lowering his voice a little, he added, "You just have to block it out. The court's the same size; the baskets are the same height; the ball is no different from what we've been playing with for months. Just focus on what happens on the court. Forget about everything beyond the out-of-bounds lines. Nothing matters except what happens with the 10 guys on the floor."

Bobby had tilted his head to listen, and he nodded, though he didn't say anything. He couldn't help but wonder how loud the crowd would be, what sort of things people would yell. There would be nowhere to hide under these bright lights if any scorn came his way. Suddenly his imagination kicked in, and he could almost hear a nightmare chorus of "nut job," "wacko" and "head case" raining down on him.

Seeing the shadow of pain cross his face, Alex stepped up and hooked an arm through his, giving him a reassuring smile. He looked down into her eyes and felt a surge of confidence washing away the negative thoughts. No matter what happened on the court, he knew his most important fan wouldn't desert him. For a brief moment, their surroundings dropped away, and all he could think about was her. Her dancing eyes, her encouraging grin, her hand rubbing up and down his arm. He stood there, soaking in the feeling. Finally he took a breath and looked back at Mike. "I'll be fine. I can handle this," he said firmly.

"I know you can, big guy. OK, let's get suited up and get the show on the road."

They returned to the hallway and found their way to the locker room area. Coach Hunter, Stitch and Nick Kramer were loitering outside a door marked "Visitors."

"Hey, how come we get the visitors' digs?" Mike asked in mock indignation. "We're in Manhattan."

"The championship is here every year, so the divisions alternate," Hunter explained. "This year the Blue Division is visitor and Gold is home.

"It's not so bad," he added. "The quarters are sparse, but the lockers are all ours. Brooklyn's guys have to make do with the space the Hudson kids cleared for them, and it usually isn't much."

"How's the wrist, Bobby?" Stitch asked, glancing toward the pocket where the injury was hidden.

"Pretty good, Mr. McKinney. The ice and ibuprofen helped a lot. I even slept pretty well, all things considered."

"What does 'all things considered' mean?" Coach Hunter asked.

"He means for Christmas Eve," Alex replied with a smile.

Bobby shrugged, a little embarrassed to admit his excitement had kept him awake for a while. "Well, it is a pretty big day. It's not every day that 1PP plays for a championship."

Hunter nodded. "It's not every day that 1PP wins a championship. But I have a feeling this is going to be the one. So you guys get changed and get out on the court. Time to stretch and shoot."

Alex wanted to give Bobby a good luck hug, but with so many people around, she couldn't risk it. So she simply met his eyes, knowing he would see what he needed there. His grin said, "Message received." As the guys went in to dress, she and Carolyn headed to the stands.

Ten minutes later, Mike was on court in sweats, limbering up his muscles, and a few minutes after that, Bobby joined him. His wrist had been sprayed with ethyl chloride and tightly wrapped with inner wrap and tape.

As they began shooting, Bobby found the tape a little constricting but the support welcome. He felt good pulling the ball off the glass and could even dribble fairly comfortably, but shooting free throws, which he did right-handed, was a little awkward because his follow-through was limited. He quickly stepped away from the line when he saw Patterson emerge from the tunnel, not wanting his opponent to notice that he used his injured hand for free throws. Perhaps he could keep that vulnerability hidden for a while.

The stands were beginning to fill up. Alex and Carolyn had bought soft drinks at the concession stand and were settled about 10 rows behind the 1PP bench, in the section for those with tickets provided for the players.

As warmups neared their end, Bobby stood along the far sideline, watching his teammates shoot. He didn't want to overdo it before the game had even started, and he felt ready to go. Suddenly a ball smacked him in the backside. Startled, he turned to find Patterson grinning.

"Oops! Sorry, Goren. The ball got away from me," he said, trotting over.

Annoyed, Bobby picked up the ball and tossed it back. "I guess you're as careless on the court as you are off it," he couldn't resist saying.

Patterson's eyes narrowed and he was about to snarl a retort when he happened to glance down and see Bobby's tape job. "Well, well," he said with a broadening smile. "I don't remember that from your last game. I thought your wrist had healed. But I guess the big detective got a little owie messing up my case yesterday, huh?"

Bobby kept his face a mask and simply said, "Nothing I can't handle."

Patterson nodded. "We'll see about that, Goren. Let the game begin."

He turned and jogged away, still grinning. A wary Bobby headed to the 1PP bench and then to the locker room with his team. He knew he couldn't have hidden the injury much longer, but he still felt upset. He had been holding out a small hope that it would be a clean game with no ugly incidents, but now he sensed that would be impossible. As determined as he was to play fair, dread was tugging at his heart.

This isn't just about winning and losing, he thought. It's about how you survive the game.

**Another chapter so soon? What has gotten into me? I hope nobody has a heart attack out there from the shock.**


	33. Showdown

**A chapter, at last! Procrastination and real life do not mix well. But I finally have something for you, and I hope you enjoy it.**

**Chapter 33: Showdown**

Coach Hunter hadn't missed the exchange between Bobby and Patterson. After going over offensive and defensive plans with the team, he called Bobby aside for a last-minute pep talk.

"Wrist feel OK?" he asked.

"It's fine, Coach. That spray works great."

"No telling how long you have before the effects wear off, so speak up if we need to do something."

Bobby nodded.

"And one more thing. Don't let Patterson get to you. I saw what he did in warm-ups. He's trying to get into your head."

Bobby scowled. "I don't want to get into anything with him. He's the one trying to pick a fight."

"I know," Hunter said. "But you can't let him. If you retaliate, it'll hurt the team. Leave it to the officials to police his conduct, and even if they miss something, let it go. No matter what he does, stay focused on playing the game the way you know how, doing what you need to do to help the team win."

"I'll do my best, Coach. I really want this championship. And I want to be on the floor when we win it."

"OK, then," Hunter said with a firm nod and a slap on the back. He turned to the other players, who were talking quietly, relacing shoes, completing other rituals to keep their nerves in check. "It's time, boys. This is what we've practiced so hard for and what we've played all season for. You deserve this moment and this championship. Get out there and win this thing!"

Frankie Lester stood and started clapping, and Kramer followed suit. The others joined them, and when Frankie yelled, "Let's go," they lined up and sprinted out the door, through the tunnel and onto the court.

As Bobby followed Mike out onto the floor, the cheers of the crowd filled his ears and a surge of adrenaline raced through his body. A ball found his hands, and he dribbled it once, leaped and laid it off the glass and into the basket. As he trotted away, he felt mildly surprised that he hadn't bobbled the ball. He could feel the nervousness in his belly, and it increased as he looked up and around at what by now was a full arena.

Trying to block out the distraction, he focused on his next sprint to the basket, taking the ball as it dropped through and passing it to the next shooter. As the layup drill continued, he felt a little calmer and the butterflies began to settle. When the drill ended and the jump shots began filling the hoop, he focused on picking errant shots off the glass and returning them to teammates. But he couldn't completely rid his mind of the awareness that several thousand pairs of eyes were on him and the others on the court. He felt a little light-headed. Just then Mike appeared in front of him.

"Breathe, Goren."

"Huh?" Bobby said, blinking as his friend came into focus.

"You look a little pale. Don't let it get to you. We can't have you passing out before the game starts."

Bobby laughed a bit uncertainly. "Thanks, Mike. I'm just not used to this."

Mike smiled. "Just remember: Focus on the court. And keep breathing."

A few seconds later a buzzer sounded and the players headed to their benches. Bobby pulled off his sweatshirt and tossed it onto the bench. Extending his arms and moving his hands in small circles, he tried to work the tension out of his shoulders. He shrugged and flopped his head from side to side. But he still felt tight, and those butterflies were still fluttering around in his stomach. He looked up into the stands behind the bench, and his eyes immediately found Alex. She smiled confidently and nodded, and he smiled back. Another deep breath, and he felt a little calmer. Just Alex and the team, he thought. That's all I'm here for. That's all that matters.

"OK, fellas," Hunter said. "We'll start in 55 ball. Let's make them work for everything. Frankie, on offense, get a good look at what they show and make a clear call. It's noisier in here than what we're used to, so everybody be loud on the court calling screens and switches."

Another buzzer sounded, and Bobby, Mike, Frankie Lester, Nick Kramer and Jim Mitchell, in their light blue jerseys and dark blue shorts, trotted onto the court. Patterson and Jeff Tasby, in Brooklyn's red tops and gold shorts, paired off with Mike and Frankie. Kramer headed to the center circle, where 6-9 Marcus Thompson was waiting for him. Bobby found his man, 6-6 Paul Romano, and Jimbo lined up with 6-3 Bud Blasingame. Kramer and Jimbo were each giving away an inch, and Bobby was two inches shorter than his man. Tenacity and positioning would have to make a difference on the boards, because Brooklyn had a slight size advantage.

As Bobby settled into position, Romano leaned in close, rested a forearm against his back and shoved. Startled at the extra push, Bobby turned to stare at Romano.

"So you're Goren," the taller man said, scowling at him. "Donnie's told me about you."

Shaking his head, Bobby simply said, "I don't want any trouble."

"Too bad," Romano said, sneering. "You've already got it."

Bobby frowned and took a step back. This is ridiculous, he thought. The guy is trying to pick a fight.

Frankie, ever the coach on the floor, saw the shove and the jawing. Raising his voice to be heard across the circle, he cautioned, "Easy, Bobby. We've got a game to win here."

Bobby nodded and turned away from Romano. By that time, one of the officials was watching, and he knew Romano wouldn't risk a cheap shot.

The other official tossed the ball in the air, and Thompson outjumped Kramer to tip it at its highest point. Tasby grabbed it, and Brooklyn quickly moved into its half-court offense. Lithe and with long arms, Thompson was a handful for Kramer. He took a pass from Tasby, managed to slip inside past 1PP's center and, before Bobby could block his path to the basket, rose high and slammed the ball through the hoop.

Bobby took the ball out of bounds and flipped it to Lester. As soon as Frankie turned upcourt, his man and Bobby's clamped a trap on him. Seeing his man head toward Lester, Bobby alertly stayed back to provide an outlet for a pass. Lester managed to throw it back to him, yelling, "Zone trap, zone trap," to warn their teammates.

Bobby held the ball in the middle of the backcourt so he couldn't be trapped against a sideline and refrained from dribbling to keep from being stopped and caught in a bind. Mike sprinted into the backcourt and Bobby quickly zinged a pass to him. He dribbled over the line, and Brooklyn fell back into a half-court man-to-man defense.

"Good job! Way to break the press!" Hunter yelled from the bench. "Work it, now. Take your time."

After several passes, Mike was able to slip the ball past Patterson's reach and in to Kramer. He went up for a layup, but Thompson swatted it away. Blasingame grabbed it and fired upcourt to Tasby, sprinting on the fast break, and Brooklyn got an easy bucket to make it 4-0.

Again, Brooklyn put a full-court trap on the inbounds, and this time Frankie tried to pass upcourt to Jimbo, but the 1PP small forward lost the ball out of bounds. After the turnover, Tasby passed to Patterson, and despite close guarding by Mike, the Brooklyn shooting guard fired in a three-pointer to put his team up 7-0.

Hunter called timeout, and the team gathered around him. "Come on, guys!" he said angrily. "We can't let ourselves get rattled here. Keep your cool. Keep the ball away from the corners and make crisp passes to beat this press. You know what to do out there. Keep your wits about you and do it. Forget about the crowd and the trophy and everything. Just play basketball!"

Grim nods met the scolding, and the team broke the huddle with renewed purpose. Again, Bobby took the ball out and passed it in to Frankie. He passed it back just as two players closed in to trap him. The ball barely touched Bobby's fingers as he redirected it to Mike. Again, Mike dribbled across the midcourt line, and Brooklyn dropped back on defense. The ball went back to Frankie, in to Kramer and quickly back out to Mike, just beyond the three-point line. Mike rose high and lofted the ball in a beautiful arc. It fell through the net with barely a ripple, and 1PP was on the scoreboard.

Giving Brooklyn a taste of its own medicine, 1PP hustled to press on the inbounds pass. Frankie flicked the ball away from his opponent and right to Bobby, who laid it off the glass and in. Suddenly it was 7-5, and the 1PP fans roared their approval of the quick rally. Mike grinned and hollered, "Nice, Bobby. But next time, jam it!"

This time 1PP didn't press, and as everyone headed upcourt, Romano gave Bobby a shove. He stumbled but regained his footing and turned to stare at his opponent. The officials hadn't seen the shove, so no foul was called, but they were watching now. Bobby frowned but wisely kept his distance, and Romano smirked at him as they resumed their trip upcourt.

The game settled into a rhythm, with both Mike and Patterson hitting from outside and 1PP holding its own inside as the lead went back and forth. Kramer was struggling with Thompson, who was definitely the best big man 1PP had faced all season. But Bobby worked tirelessly to get position on Romano and was able to grab more than his share of rebounds. Still, Romano made him pay, with elbows to the ribs in traffic that the officials weren't able to see.

Bobby grew increasingly frustrated at his opponent's ability to hide the fouls in the congestion around the basket, but he knew he had to hold onto his temper and not retaliate. It was hard to just keep taking it, and he couldn't help scowling after a particularly rough slap against his injured wrist that caused him to lose his grip on a rebound. The ball slipped right into Thompson's hands, and he put it back into the hoop to give Brooklyn a 31-30 lead. Again, no whistle, and again, Romano was grinning as Bobby flipped the ball in to Lester.

His eyes met Frankie's and the point guard saw the anger blazing. Neither team had been pressing for a while, so the pace up and down the court had slowed. But this time, Bobby took off in a sprint, and Frankie knew what he had in mind. Fury and determination had replaced his easygoing manner and sometimes shaky confidence. Frankie kept his own pace slow, and the Brooklyn defenders matched him as he brought the ball up, letting Bobby slip behind them. Suddenly Frankie stopped and fired the ball high toward the hoop. Thompson was still outside the key at Kramer's hip, and Romano had been left behind a few steps when Bobby started his sprint.

Bobby put all of his energy into the last few steps and leaped high, grabbing the ball inches from the hoop and slamming it down hard into the cylinder with his left hand. The ball dropped through smoothly, and Bobby landed facing Romano, a "Take that!" look of triumph on his face. 1PP's fans leaped to their feet with a deafening roar. The sound filled Bobby's ears, and he felt his heart soar.

And in the stands, so did Alex's. She couldn't stifle the huge grin as she sensed that the powerful dunk was a breakthrough for Bobby in his battle for confidence. She watched as he hustled to the other end of the court, his head held high.

Annoyed at Bobby's success, Patterson decided to drive into the clogged middle rather than shoot from outside, perhaps hoping to run over his rival. But instead of trying to take a charge, as he usually would have, Bobby stayed slightly to the side. As Patterson sent a scoop shot toward the rim, Bobby timed his leap and swatted the ball away hard into the seats. Another roar greeted the move.

Tasby took the ball out, but when he threw it in, Blasingame lost it off his fingers. Jimbo grabbed it, and 1PP started a fast break. Frankie fed Kramer, and he dunked before Thompson could catch up to him. 1PP was up 34-31, and Brooklyn called timeout.

The whole crowd was on its feet, screaming and cheering, imploring and rewarding, as the teams reached their benches. Even the civilians, most of whom had chosen a side, were enthralled by the action and the intensity of the teams.

Mike clapped Bobby on the back. "I knew you could do it!" he told him. Bobby shrugged but grinned. "Guess I just had to get mad enough."

Coach Hunter nodded. "Just keep doing what you're doing, Bobby. Channel all that anger into playing the game, not into retaliation. Make the score your answer."

Bobby looked up into the crowd and met Alex's eyes. The pride on her face was even better than the cheers of the crowd – way better.

Meanwhile, Szymanski was having a hard time getting a handle on his bunch. Patterson and Romano were seething. Blasingame was kicking himself for his mistake, and Thompson and Tasby were trying unsuccessfully to help settle everyone down.

"That sonofabitch is going to pay," Patterson muttered. "I'm gonna wipe that smile off his face if it's the last thing I do!"

The coach glared at him. "Forget the headhunting and get your mind on winning this game. If you think you're mad now, just imagine how it'll be if you let those guys beat us. You have to work with them every day!"

"Well, if I put Goren out of the game, maybe it'll be a little easier to win," Patterson snarled. "I say beat 'em and beat 'em up!"

"Yeah, I'd like to put that guy on his ass," Romano chimed in.

"Both of you, shut up! Focus on what we need to do," Szymanski warned.

By the time the teams returned to the floor, Patterson and Romano barely had a grip on their anger. It didn't help that Frankie stole the inbounds pass and scored on a layup.

Brooklyn managed to get the next pass in safely and pushed the ball upcourt, but Patterson was still unsettled, and as he took a pass and dribbled into position for a shot, Mike reached out and flicked the ball away. Both teams raced back downcourt. Romano was running step for step with Bobby, on his outside shoulder, and Patterson was a few steps behind and gaining. Frankie lobbed a pass over Bobby's head so he could take it on the bounce in the key. As Bobby went up to lay it over the rim, Romano jarred him from the side. He kept control of the ball with the long fingers of his left hand and managed to slam it down for another dunk. At the same time, Patterson took an awkward-looking, stumbling step and launched himself forward, and Bobby, still in the air, felt his rival crash into his legs.

Helpless to control his fall, he felt as if he were tumbling in slow motion. He saw his shoes above him and bowed his neck just in time to avoid smacking his head on the court. Instead he landed hard on his right shoulder, and a searing line of pain stabbed through it. He couldn't stifle a cry of "aaahhhh!" as he rolled onto his back, grabbing his arm and trying to take the pressure off the shoulder.

As Bobby writhed on the court, the referee raced up, whistle shrieking. Patterson put on his best innocent face. "I stumbled!" he said, palms up in a pleading gesture. "It was an accident."

"That was flagrant!" Coach Hunter screamed from the bench. "Throw him out of the game. Those two have been gunning for my guy all night."

The ref, not totally certain and not wanting to make a call that could decide the outcome of the game, made the "T" sign at Patterson. "That's a technical on you, 22. And if I see anything else that looks like there's a chance it's deliberate, you're gone."

Meanwhile, Alex was beside herself in the stands. When Bobby hit the floor, the crowd jumped up, shocked and fearful. Alex almost bolted out of her seat, and Carolyn had to grab her arm and hold tight to keep her from rushing to the court. "No, Alex. You can't," Carolyn whispered firmly. Alex looked at her, annoyed at being held back. "Trust me; this is not the place, with everybody watching," Carolyn cautioned. "He'll have plenty of help. Just let the medical people do their jobs."

Frustrated, Alex nodded. She knew Carolyn was right. They couldn't risk a public display of their relationship. But it was agonizing to see Bobby in pain and not be able to go to his side.

As he lay on the court, teeth gritted and the world spinning above him, Bobby saw Stitch McKinney and Coach Hunter appear. Mike and Frankie were bending next to him, hands on their knees. The world slowed and came into better focus, but if anything, the pain felt worse. He kept his arm turned outward, trying to ease it, but nothing helped much. The feeling was sickeningly familiar. Turning his head toward Stitch, he managed to grunt, "It's dislocated."

Stitch looked up from his quick examination. "It's happened before?"

"Yeah, a few times, when I was a kid."

"OK. You think you can sit up with help?"

Bobby frowned, but he knew he had to, so he nodded. With Mike and Frankie bracing him, he was able to sit. The world didn't spin. "Can you pop it back in?"

"Not here. We need to go to the training room. And we'll need to X-ray it."

Bobby groaned. "No hospital! Not now."

"It's OK. They have a portable machine," Stitch said. "And Doc Hadley will need to take a look. He's in the stands, ready for just this sort of thing."

With a little more help, Bobby got unsteadily to his feet. He heard the crowd clapping for him, but any appreciation he had for the gesture was forgotten when he saw the grin on Patterson's face. "Hope you're not hurt too bad, Goren," his rival said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. Hardening his features, refusing to give in and show the pain, Bobby turned and slowly walked away.

With Stitch accompanying him and Doc Hadley stepping down out of the stands to join them, Bobby headed down the tunnel to the locker room.


	34. Down and Out

**This one's a little short, but it's a unit. I'm already working on the next one, but I wanted to go ahead and get this posted.**

**Chapter 34: Down and Out**

Coach Hunter gathered his players at the bench for a moment. He could see the anger in their eyes, and he knew they needed to regain their focus. "C'mon, boys. We've got a game to win here. Don't stoop to those tactics. You want revenge? You want to make them pay? The scoreboard is the way to do it!"

Grudgingly, heads nodded. "Let's win this thing for Goren," Kramer said, eyes flashing. "Let's play this game the right way, just like he would. And let's get that trophy!"

The referee appeared at Hunter's shoulder. "You got a sub for your injured man? Get him on the line, and let's get going."

Hunter sent Jeff Stanley to report to the scorer's table. Soon he was at the free-throw line, and he calmly sank the shot to complete Bobby's three-point play. Then Frankie stepped to the line to take the two technicals. He made both, pushing the lead to 41-31. Stanley took the ball out, and Mike caught the inbounds pass and drilled a three-pointer. Suddenly 1PP was up 44-31 and threatening to run away with the game. Szymansky called time again to try to break 1PP's momentum.

After Bobby left, Alex found she couldn't concentrate on what was happening in front of her. She frowned and chewed at her lip, worrying about how badly he was hurt and how deeply disappointed he might be. This game meant so much to him, and to have it all end before they even reached halftime had to have left him miserable.

During the timeout, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and she looked around to find Ross leaning toward her, compassion in his eyes. "I'm going to go see how Goren's doing," he told her. She nodded gratefully and watched as he made his way down the aisle, to the floor and into the tunnel where Bobby had disappeared.

Ross hurried to the visitors' locker room and found a security guard standing outside. Showing his ID, he said, "The guy who got hurt – I'm his captain."

The guard opened the door and escorted him in, pointing to another door at the back of the room. "Training room's in there," the guard told him.

As Ross reached the second door, he heard Doc Hadley say, "All right, here we go." The doctor gave a quick, hard tug, and Bobby yelped in pain. Ross saw his back stiffen, and then he slumped a little, shoulders sagging, breathing hard as he sat on the examining table. "It's OK, Bobby. It's done. It's back in place," Hadley said comfortingly. Bobby nodded, but he kept his head down and held his injured arm close to his chest.

"Goren, you all right?" Ross asked as he rounded the table to face his detective.

Bobby looked up, a deep sadness in his eyes, and tiredness showing as well. The pain was clearly taking a toll, and disappointment was setting in. "Yeah, Captain. I'll be OK," he said quietly. But he didn't sound OK.

"I'm Danny Ross," the captain told the doctor, offering his hand. "Dislocation, huh? You just popped it back in?"

"Doc Hadley," Hadley replied with a firm handshake. "Yes, sir. We're just about to X-ray him, and then I'll check to see if I can tell how weak the ligaments are. He's had previous dislocations, so he's susceptible to them, and there may be prior ligament damage."

"So he's done for the night?" Ross asked. Bobby's head came up. "No way," he said, his voice strained but a little fire coming back in his eyes.

"I wouldn't recommend that he return to the game," Hadley said. "Best-case scenario, it would be very painful. But let me finish examining him."

Fortunately, there was no sign of a fracture on the X-rays of Bobby's shoulder. (No one mentioned his wrist; no sense giving Hadley any extra reason to discourage playing.) Next the doctor began probing the newly injured area. It was sore to the touch, but Bobby managed to grit his teeth and not cry out. When Hadley finally stopped, Bobby let out his breath and relaxed a little.

"Well, there is some looseness in there, but I can't tell whether you'll need surgery to tighten it up or whether it might heal enough on its own. You need an MRI."

"That can wait, though, right?" Bobby asked, his eyes pleading. "I can play tonight and get that done next week, can't I?"

"For now, you need to ice that shoulder to keep the swelling down," Hadley told him. Stitch was already preparing an ice pack, and he soon had it form-fitted over Bobby's shoulder and was wrapping a large Ace bandage around his chest and over his shoulder to keep it in place.

"Let's just give it a little time and see how it feels at the end of halftime. Maybe the team can wrap up the win without you," Hadley said.

Bobby wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad one. He really wanted to be out there on the floor. He felt he had just found his stride when he got hurt, and the thought of it all being over left him with a hollow feeling in his stomach.

With a little help from Stitch and Hadley, he lay back on the examining table.

"Well, I guess I'd better report back to Eames and Barek," Ross said.

"Tell A-, tell Eames I'm OK," Bobby said. "I don't want her to worry."

"Too late for that," Ross said, but he gave Bobby a smile and a pat on the arm before he left.

Bobby sighed and closed his eyes.

Ross returned to the stands and filled Alex in. Nearby fans who overheard murmured to their neighbors, and word of Bobby's dislocated shoulder spread quickly through the crowd. Gloom began to settle over the 1PP fans, who had been watching their team's lead shrink as halftime neared.

Without Goren in the game, Brooklyn's Finest had settled down and was playing the kind of basketball that had made it the Gold Division champion. Thompson and Romano dominated the boards at both ends of the court; though Kramer worked hard to sneak between them for rebounds, Stanley was badly overmatched. Only Mike's shooting kept 1PP competitive, but Patterson, buoyed by his success in knocking his rival out of the game, was shooting well too. His three-pointer at the buzzer pulled Brooklyn within one at 52-51.

As the teams headed to the locker rooms, 1PP was clearly frustrated and out of sorts, and Brooklyn was energized. Worry clouded Coach Hunter's face as he watched his players, shoulders slumping, trudge down the tunnel in front of him. It's going to be a tough second half, he thought. If we don't get some inspiration – and some rebounds – we're in big trouble.


	35. Playing Hurt

**Chapter 35: Playing Hurt**

Bobby was still lying on the examining table, trying to rest and recover some strength, when his teammates entered the locker room. As he looked through the door and saw some of their faces, he felt a surge of alarm. "What's the score?" he asked as Mike came in to check on him.

"We're up 52-51, but they closed fast," he said quietly. "How are you doing?"

Bobby took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm better," he said firmly. "I've still got some basketball left in me tonight."

Doc Hadley, talking quietly with Stitch in a corner, frowned when he heard Bobby's reply. He shook his head. "They never learn, do they? Always putting the game before their health."

Stitch gave him a small smile. "It's the nature of the game – and the athletes. They gotta prove themselves. And winning means so much to them."

Hadley sighed. "Sometimes it's just not smart."

"Maybe not, but it makes sense to them. All we can do is make sure they don't push it too far."

Just then Bobby looked over at Hadley. "Hey, Doc. Think I can lose the ice pack now? I want to get ready for the second half."

Hadley growled at him. "Goren, I haven't even said you can play the second half!" Shrugging resignedly, he walked over. "Let's see about your range of motion."

Stitch unwound the bandage and took off the ice pack. As the doctor began checking Bobby's arm movement, Coach Hunter came in to watch and several teammates crowded into the doorway.

After a few moments, Hunter asked, "What's the verdict, Doc?"

Hadley frowned and sighed heavily. "His motion is limited, but it's better than I expected. If he really wants to play, I won't stop him, but his effectiveness could be diminished, and it's definitely going to be painful."

"I can take it, Doc. Coach, I want to play!" Bobby said determinedly.

Hunter felt uncertain about the wisdom of it, but he couldn't ignore the pleading look in Bobby's eyes. Slowly he nodded. "OK, Bobby, but we'll be careful. Let's use it to our advantage. Let them think you're done for the night, and we'll spring you on them if and when we need to."

Bobby wasn't very happy about the qualified vote of confidence, but at least it was something. Maybe if I get out on the floor and show what I can do, Coach will stop worrying and let me play, he thought.

Climbing off the examining table, he joined his teammates on the locker room benches. Just seeing the big guy upright again seemed to cheer them up. Kramer handed him a bottle of Gatorade, and he drank deeply. Others were doing the same, and Stitch was checking for minor injuries. After a few minutes, Hunter addressed the team.

"OK, fellas, we've got 20 more minutes of basketball this season. We've been through a lot the past few months, and we've been through more than we expected tonight," he said, looking around and meeting each pair of eyes. "But no championship comes easy. It's gotta be fought for. Every obstacle has to be overcome – the ones you expect and the ones that catch you by surprise.

"I think we've already showed tonight that we have the heart of a champion," Hunter said, looking straight at Bobby. "We give it everything we've got – and sometimes a little more. But I think we also have the talent of a champion. Let's go out there and play our game – and show everyone from the Brooklyn players to the fans in the nosebleeds what a champion is made of!"

The team rose as one, clapping and yelling, and headed out the door, ready for the second half. Hunter held Bobby back. "Stretch and limber up here, and then join us on the bench. Remember, we want them to start the half thinking you're through for the night. Another ice pack isn't a bad idea either."

A few minutes later, Stitch strapped on a fresh ice pack, and Bobby walked back up the tunnel into the arena. When he got to the bench, Alex could wait no longer. She popped up and hurried down the steps to meet him. "Bobby, are you OK?" she asked worriedly, eyeing his bandaged, iced shoulder.

"I've been better," he admitted. "But they said I can play, so I hope to be out there again."

Alex looked surprised. "Are you sure? This doesn't look good," she said, pointing at the shoulder.

"We're hoping that's what Brooklyn thinks too," he said. "Coach wants them to think they've succeeded in knocking me out of the game. Maybe they'll relax a little and get cocky."

"Shame on them if they feel like gloating after deliberately injuring an opponent," Alex retorted bitterly.

Bobby grinned at her indignation. "I'm sure glad you're on my side. Those guys wouldn't stand a chance if they had to face you!"

"Just be careful out there, OK?" she asked, a serious look on her face.

"I'll do my best," he said cryptically.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she replied with an all-too-understanding smile. "Just make sure there's enough of you left for me to enjoy."

"That I can promise," he assured her.

The buzzer sounded, and 1PP gathered at the bench for last-minute instructions. "OK, let's start out with 23, no pressing, just a straight half-court zone. Pack the middle so they have a harder time getting to the boards," Hunter told them. "Play hard; play sound fundamentals. Frankie, keep things under control."

Then the starting five, with Jeff Stanley in for Bobby, headed out on the court. Patterson meandered near the 1PP bench on the way to his spot. "Is the big detective still sidelined for the big game?" he mocked. "Too bad, Goren. Guess you're going to miss all the fun. Oh, that's right. Losing is no fun!" Bobby, his face impassive, said nothing.

Again, Brooklyn won the tip. But 1PP packed its zone defense in tight, and when Tasby forced a pass inside, Jimbo got a hand on it and deflected it to Mike. He grabbed the ball and held on as Brooklyn's players slapped at it on their way up the floor. Then he turned it over to Frankie and trotted upcourt.

Knowing that they had an ace in the hole, the 1PP players were more upbeat. They held their own as the game went back and forth, with no team leading by more than three points at a time. Hunter had decided to keep Bobby out as long as possible, secretly hoping he wouldn't be needed.

But just over midway through the half, Brooklyn managed a little spurt and pushed the lead to five. Hunter decided he couldn't wait any longer. Too much was at stake to leave one of his best weapons on the bench. If Bobby could play through the pain and help on the boards, it could be the difference between winning and losing. There was no more holding back. He rose and signaled for a timeout, with 8:18 remaining.

As the team gathered around him, he turned and found Bobby's eyes on him, hungry to play. He nodded. Stitch stepped in and started unwrapping the bandage. As the fans behind the bench noticed what was happening, a buzz started: "Is Goren going in?" "After dislocating his shoulder?" "Sure looks like it!"

"OK, fellas, let's get some momentum going," Hunter told them. "Let's go to 41 deny. I want those traps clamped so tight they can't breathe. Let's shock 'em, fluster 'em and outhustle 'em!"

They broke the huddle and Bobby emerged and headed to the scorer's table to report in. As he turned away from the official to go out on the court, he caught a glimpse of Patterson, stunned, his mouth open, but for once, nothing coming out of it. And as he stepped onto the court, the roar from the crowd filled his ears. He looked up and saw most of the fans on their feet, clapping for his display of courage. A group near the 1PP bench was chanting, "Bob-by, Bob-by, Bob-by!"

Embarrassed, he looked down at his feet, though he couldn't help but smile a little. It felt great to be cheered; he felt warm all over. He certainly wasn't used to it, and he wanted to make sure to live up to it.

Setting his jaw, getting psyched for whatever pain would come, he trotted to the far sideline and took the ball from the official. He flipped it in to Frankie, mostly using his left hand but careful not to be sloppy about it with defenders lurking nearby. That wasn't too bad, he thought as he trotted upcourt.

As 1PP worked the ball around, looking for an opening, Bobby gritted his teeth, caught his share of passes and returned them crisply. He kept his feet moving and stayed focused on maneuvering into good rebounding position, doing his best to block the pain from his mind as he looked for room under the basket. A pass came his way, and Romano jumped out to try to intercept it, but he missed. Bobby caught the ball, pivoted and went straight to the hoop. He jumped as high as he could, carrying the ball with his left hand, and dropped it down into the basket. The cheering was so loud it felt as if the arena were shaking.

Bobby immediately found Romano taking the ball out. He couldn't raise his right arm very high, but he kept the left up and matched Romano step for step as he moved along the baseline. Frankie was overplaying Tasby, and Mike was all over Patterson farther up the backcourt. Finally Romano managed to get the ball in just ahead of a five-second count, but the pass was awkward and Tasby bobbled it. By the time he got it under control, Bobby and Frankie had clamped a trap on him. He picked up his dribble, and as he tried to pass, the ball deflected off Bobby's hand and straight to Mike, who was floating in the middle, awaiting just such an opportunity. He grabbed the ball out of the air, dribbled once and put up a three-pointer that fell through to tie the game at 71.

Again, 1PP trapped, and this time Romano couldn't get the ball in past Bobby. He panicked and threw it off Bobby's leg and out of bounds, trying to get more time, but the five seconds had already passed.

"You idiot, call time if you have to!" Patterson snarled at him. "Don't just give the ball away."

Romano glared at him. "If you'd get loose and give me a target, I could get the ball in."

Patterson was immediately in his face. "Shut up and do your job! Don't blame your screwups on me."

Tasby jumped in between them. "Guys, come on. We've got a game to win here."

Szymansky was on the verge of calling time again, but 1PP quickly got the ball in, and Mike sank another jumper. When the Brooklyn coach finally got the timeout, 1PP was up 73-71.

The 1PP players were jubilant as they headed to the bench. "Can you believe those guys?" Kramer asked. "They're so busy fighting each other they're about to give the game away!"

"Don't count on that lasting," Hunter told them. "Their coach will settle them down. We've got to keep working. Let's go back to the 2-3 for a change of pace. We'll keep 41 in our back pocket for later if we need it."

Sure enough, the Brooklyn players returned to the court grim but not arguing. The next few minutes, the teams traded baskets, with 1PP keeping a slight advantage, but Brooklyn poured its anger into rugged play in the middle. Romano got the elbow jabs going again, and several times he bumped against Bobby's right arm. Although his shoulder was sore and the elbow jabs hurt, most of Romano's blows failed to move Bobby. He stayed focused and found good rebounding position, and the long fingers of his left hand helped him secure the ball several times with minimal use of his right. Meanwhile, Kramer's bulkier frame was taking a toll on his taller but slimmer opponent. The two had been leaning on each other all game, and Thompson was starting to wear down. And Mike kept hitting his jump shots.

With just under two minutes to go and 1PP up 82-80, Bobby tried to stick back a missed shot and got slapped hard on the left wrist, keeping him from getting the two points. The whistle blew, and the official signaled hacking, on Romano. "You're on the line, 44. Two shots."

Bobby wiped the sweat from his hands on the front of his shorts and took the ball from the official. He closed his eyes briefly, imagining the ball going through the hoop, reminding himself not to hold back on the follow-through. Opening his eyes, he dribbled twice, brought the ball up and flicked his right wrist, letting the shot fly. It hit the front of the rim, bounced up and fell away. A groan went through the crowd. Frustrated, Bobby stepped away for a few seconds. It was hard to follow through because of the tape constraining his wrist, not to mention the throbbing ache in his shoulder.

As he looked to the official to take the ball back, he noticed Patterson staring at him, a smile starting to form at the corners of his mouth. Annoyed, Bobby tried to block it out and focus on the shot, but he realized Patterson had spotted his weakness. Bouncing the ball twice, Bobby put up his second shot. Again, it hit the front of the rim and bounced high, and Thompson pulled it down. As Tasby took the pass and started to dribble up the floor, Patterson yelled at Thompson and Romano, "Foul Goren when you get a chance! He shoots free throws with the bad wrist!"

Hunter heard Patterson's instructions and groaned inwardly. He immediately thought about pulling Bobby out of the game. If they kept sending him to the line and he missed his free throws, it could cost 1PP the championship. But losing Bobby's rebounding could be costly too. The coach shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. Glancing down the bench, he saw Jeff Stanley, fists clenched, eyes glued to the court. No, Stanley played hard, but he was no match for Romano. We'll live or die with Bobby, Hunter decided.

Tasby passed to Patterson, and he threw it down low to Blasingame, who beat Jimbo with a quick first step and laid the ball off the glass for the tying basket. Brooklyn fell back on defense and let 1PP bring it up. As soon as the ball was passed to Bobby, Romano fouled him. The team gathered around Bobby at the line. "C'mon, man. You can do it," Kramer said. The official handed him the ball, signaling the one-and-one, because Bobby hadn't been in the act of shooting when fouled. If he made the free throw, he would get a second one. If not, Brooklyn, in the favored positions along the key, would be likely to get the rebound with a chance to go ahead. Bobby looked up at the clock. 1:10 to go. A lot of time.

Again, he closed his eyes, then opened them, dribbled twice and flicked the ball toward the hoop, extending his fingers as far as he could to compensate for the binding of his wrist. The ball rolled around the rim and fell in. Relief washed over him. But it was short-lived. The second shot was another miss. As Thompson grabbed the rebound and flipped the ball to Tasby for the trip upcourt, 1PP had a tenuous 83-82 lead. Inside, Bobby felt frustrated, but he refused to let it show. As he dropped back on defense, his jaw set and his eyes focused, Hunter saw his determination. Any second thoughts he might have had about keeping Bobby in the game were banished.

Brooklyn worked for an open shot, and Patterson barely got loose just behind the three-point arc. The ball swished through, and the 1PP fans groaned. Patterson threw both hands in the air in triumph as he trotted back down the court. 85-83, Brooklyn. As Bobby passed him on the way upcourt, Patterson sneered at him. "I smell victory!" he yelled over the din of the crowd. "That trophy is mine!"

"Team game, Patterson," Bobby shot back, annoyed. "There's no 'mine.'"

With the clocking ticking down, 1PP worked carefully for a shot. Brooklyn's defense was tight on everyone except Bobby, inviting a pass to him so they could foul him and send him to the line. Frankie kept moving the ball to the left side, to Mike, Jimbo and sometimes in to Kramer. Finally, with Romano sagging so far off he was practically begging for the ball to go in to Bobby, Frankie met the big guy's eyes, saw a quick nod, realized what he wanted and decided to take the risk. Instead of a typical pass that would require Bobby to catch it and make a move, he threw the lob. Before Romano could get there, Bobby went up, grabbed the pass with his left hand and jammed it through the hoop. Too late, Thompson smacked his wrist from the other side, and the whistle blew. "Basket is good, and a foul," the official announced.

The 1PP players gathered at the top of the key. Frankie looked at the bench, got the signal from Hunter and stuck his head in the huddle. "After Bobby makes this," he said, meeting Goren's eyes and giving him a confident nod, "we go 41 deny. Time to shake 'em up and put this thing away!"

As the team broke the huddle, Bobby started to step to the line, flexing his wrist. Suddenly he stepped back. "Wait a minute," he said to the official. "I need to get this tape off. It's bothering me."

"Make it fast," the official told him.

As Bobby trotted to the bench, Patterson confronted the official. "He was on the line. He should take the shot!"

"No, he wasn't," the official retorted. He too had had just about enough of the abusive Patterson. "This is an injury issue. He gets to fix it if he can."

"That's bullshit. He's just stalling," Patterson argued.

"You're one word away from getting ejected, 22," the official told him. "Back off now, or your butt will be off this floor in no time."

Glowering, Patterson spun away and stormed off, with Tasby trying to settle him down. "C'mon, Donnie. Get your head in the game. Don't let Goren get to you now."

When Bobby reached the bench, he headed straight for Stitch. "I need the tape cut off," he said.

"You sure? You'll have no support."

"I can't follow through on my free throws," Bobby said. "It's too constricting. I need to make this shot."

Stitch nodded and grabbed the scissors. Working them inside the inner wrap, he had the tape off in seconds. Bobby flexed and rotated the wrist and winced but then nodded. "Thanks."

"Just make the shot," Stitch said with a grin.

Bobby nodded again and quickly glanced up into the crowd. His eyes found Alex's immediately, and she gave him a confident smile. Suddenly, some of the nervousness nagging at his stomach eased. He reminded himself, no matter what happens here, Alex will be on my side. He gave her a little smile, then turned and trotted back to the free-throw line.

"You OK, 44?" the official asked, and Bobby nodded. "I'm ready, sir. Thanks." He took the ball, bounced it twice, took a deep breath and exhaled. His eyes on the rim, he brought the ball up, steeled himself, flicked his wrist and followed through, refusing to give in to the pain. The shot rose high, traced a perfect arc to the middle of the hoop and dropped through cleanly, putting 1PP up 86-85 with the clock showing 16 seconds left.

Bobby had followed his shot in case it missed and was at the baseline so fast that Romano couldn't slip in a quick inbounds pass. Instead he had to work for it, and when he finally threw the ball, Bobby got a couple of fingers on it. It deflected toward Mike and Patterson, but the Brooklyn player was closer and managed to run it down. Bobby and Mike quickly moved to trap him, and Patterson almost lost the ball before he finally threaded a pass through them to Tasby in the middle.

"Get back! Get back!" Hunter yelled from the bench, and the 1PP five quickly did so. The full-court trap had disrupted the Brooklyn players' rhythm and cost them a few extra seconds, but it was crucial not to let them exploit an opening with a quick pass to the basket.

Frankie moved up to challenge Tasby on the dribble, and Bobby dropped deep into the defense where Romano was lurking. He stayed in front of his man, confident he could jump high enough to bat away any pass Brooklyn tried to throw over him. Mike kept trying to force Patterson farther from the basket, knowing he would want the ball for the last shot.

As the seconds ticked down, the crowd was on its feet, chanting, "Ten, nine, eight …"

Tasby faked right and went left, but Frankie expected him to move toward Patterson and was right on him, forcing him farther out than he wanted to go. "Seven, six, five …"

Flustered by Frankie, Tasby hurried his pass to Patterson, who had to take an extra step to corral it. "Four, three …"

Patterson jumped, slightly off balance, and let fly with his shot. Mike went up with him, reaching as high as he could, and felt the ball brush his fingertips. "Two, one …"

The slight deflection pushed the ball a shade off the mark, and it came down just in front of the rim. Bobby was in perfect position, closer to the basket than Thompson or Romano. They all leaped, but Bobby plucked the ball out of the air, and as he came down, he clutched it tightly to his chest.

The buzzer sounded, and the roar from the jubilant 1PP fans rose several decibels to deafening. Bobby felt a hard shove from Romano and staggered a few steps, but he just kept hugging the ball as he turned to look at his opponent. Romano's face was contorted with rage, and he seemed on the verge of throwing a punch. But Bobby wasn't about to spoil the moment with a fight. He wouldn't let Brooklyn have that victory. Instead, a grin slowly spread across his face, and he stepped back from Romano. An official moved between them and put his arms out, herding the Brooklyn player away from Bobby. The ugly moment passed, and the celebration was on.

Bobby turned and found his teammates jumping up and down, slapping hands and backs, and hugging one another. The coaches and players on the bench had rushed onto the court the moment the buzzer sounded, and the whole team was caught up in joyous chaos in front of the Brooklyn basket.

Patterson stood right where he had landed after his shot, seemingly in shock, staring at the basket.

As he watched his teammates, Bobby felt warm and happy inside, with a sense of peace he wasn't used to in the company of so many other people.

And then Mike was there, hugging him from the left side, being careful of his injured right shoulder. "An airball!" Mike yelled over the din into Bobby's ear. "He takes the last shot and completely misses the rim! He'll never live this down."

"You deflected it, Mike," Bobby reminded him, but he couldn't keep from grinning.

"That's beside the point," Mike said with a smirk. "From now on, he's got a new nickname: Airball Patterson. Trust me; he deserves it."

Bobby had to laugh. "Yeah, I guess he does." Then Bobby's eyes drifted to the stands as he thought of how much Alex would enjoy hearing that one. He had no trouble spotting her, even from a distance, and her huge smile as she met his eyes made his heart leap in his chest. It's great to be a champion, he thought suddenly, and it's really great to make her proud.

**Here's a shoutout to cifan, who saw that "Bob-by, Bob-by" chant coming. And there's still a little bit more fun ahead before this story is complete, though we are very close to the end. I think one more chapter. Stay tuned.**


	36. To the Victor

**Special thanks to TeddyMo, who has done a great job of encouraging me to get back to writing, and to the others who have gently pushed me as well. I have so much respect for all of you who are able to work through your obstacles and keep writing regularly or semi-regularly. For those who struggle like me, keep plugging! I appreciate you too. This is the last full chapter of "Holding Court," but I do have a little epilogue planned. I hope you share in Bobby's happiness!**

**Chapter 36: To the Victor …**

A few more seconds and the swirling mass of joyous 1PP teammates had engulfed Bobby. Like Mike, they were careful not to jar his shoulder, but they still managed to sweep him into the middle of the celebration, hugging him, patting him on the back or swatting him on the rear, and showering praise on him. "Way to go, Bobby!" "Serious guts out there." "Awesome dunks!" "Great job, big man."

Bobby soaked it all in, marveling at how wonderful the praise felt. And the winning. The realization just kept washing over him – "We're champions! I'm a champion!" – and every time it hit him, his grin just grew. He tried again to make eye contact with Alex, but this time he saw she was busy getting hugs and pats on the back in the stands. Even though Alex and Bobby's romance was a secret, their partnership wasn't, and apparently being the partner of a champ brought congratulations too. Realizing that made Bobby even happier.

After a few minutes of bedlam, the officials moved in and herded the players back to their benches. It was time for the trophy presentation. Commissioner Reagan, looking quite relaxed in a maroon sweater and gray casual slacks, stepped down out of the stands and huddled at the scorer's table with members of the brass who oversaw the NYPD athletic program.

Soon Reagan had a microphone in hand, and he stepped to center court, where a table with some glittering hardware perched on it had materialized. He faced the sideline with the two benches and the scorer's table, and the crowd quieted.

"First, I want to thank everyone who bought a ticket and came here tonight to support our officers and help raise money for youth sports all over the city," Reagan said. A smile crinkled the corners of his mouth below his bushy mustache. "I think it's safe to say that we all got our money's worth."

The crowd clapped and cheered in hearty agreement.

"I've been attending these games for more years than I care to admit, and I have never seen two teams go at it with more passion than these fellows did tonight," the commissioner continued. "The talent and the heart on display here made me proud to know that off the court, we are all on the same team."

Again, a burst of cheering interrupted him. He waited until the crowd calmed and then resumed, "Though one team finished second, there are no losers here tonight. So we'll present each member of Brooklyn's Finest with silver medals – to honor their tremendous accomplishments throughout the season as well as their determined play tonight."

One by one, the disappointed players in red and gold were called up, and a red and white ribbon with a silver disc dangling from it was placed around each neck. The team formed a line on court to Reagan's right. Patterson kept his head down as he trotted out for his medal, and so he didn't notice the hard look the commissioner gave him along with it. When the line was complete and the crowd applauded the team, he still couldn't lift his gaze from his shoes.

Reagan raised the mike again. "And now it's time to honor this year's champions – first-time NYPD basketball champions – from One Police Plaza!"

Thunderous applause cascaded down as each member of the team was called to center court and received a gold medal hanging from a blue and white ribbon. As Bobby trotted out, the cheers and stomping feet sounded so loud he couldn't help but look up, astonished that such an ovation could be for him. Then he was standing before the commissioner, who, also at 6-4, could look him right in the eye. Bobby shyly ducked his head, and Reagan carefully lifted the ribbon, guided it around his neck and let the heavy metal disc settle on his chest. When Bobby looked up, the commissioner was smiling warmly. "Great game. Truly remarkable," he said with a nod.

Bobby replied, "Thank you, sir." Then he quickly bowed his head again and trotted off to find his place in the line to Reagan's left. As the rest of his teammates received their medals, he stared at his in awe, running his fingers over the word "CHAMPION" in the inscription on the front. He did remember to look up when Mike Logan's name was called, and as his buddy passed him to find his own spot in line, they exchanged the grins of boys on Christmas morning.

Next, it was Coach Hunter's turn. He had the honor of receiving the 2-foot-tall championship trophy, a golden basketball mounted atop a gold cylinder rising from a strong wooden base. Decades of champions' team names were engraved on the base's plaque, and soon "One Police Plaza" would be etched alongside the others. The traveling trophy would spend the next year on display at police headquarters, and a smaller replica would take up permanent residence there.

As Hunter held the trophy high and more cheers filled the arena, Bobby thought he couldn't possibly be happier in a public setting than he felt at that moment. (Of course, private time with Alex was another matter, he mused, his grin widening.)

Then Reagan raised the mike again, holding up his hand to quiet the lively audience. "We have one more trophy to hand out tonight, and I am truly honored to have the opportunity to do this. Never have I witnessed a gutsier performance in an athletic contest than I saw tonight by the man who has been unanimously selected as Most Valuable Player.

"His statistics – 22 points and 19 rebounds – would be impressive even if he hadn't missed a large portion of the game because of an injury. But this is about much more than statistics," the commissioner said. "This is about character, about determination, about fighting through pain and coming through in the clutch. This is about having the will to win no matter what the obstacles.

"And it's about doing it the right way. Not just playing the game the right way, but also showing true sportsmanship and refusing to retaliate when an opponent's harsh tactics go too far." Reagan paused and turned for a quick glare at two of the Brooklyn players.

Patterson felt his cheeks color in embarrassment and his throat constrict in fear. He hadn't expected to be chastised – even if not by name – by the police commissioner … and in such a public setting. Romano also was red-faced and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Both looked down when Reagan's steel-eyed gaze found them.

The commissioner turned back to address the crowd again, his smile returning. "So, here's to our Most Valuable Player on this memorable night, from 1PP, Detective Robert Goren!" As the crowd roared, Reagan turned and grinned at Bobby, who was staring in open-mouthed disbelief.

As his achievements had been described, he had been the one person in the building who hadn't grasped that he was about to be honored. He hadn't realized that he had that many points or rebounds, and even when the injury was mentioned, the thought that he might be the recipient somehow hadn't made its way to his brain. When he heard his name, his jaw dropped in astonishment.

But now the commissioner was smiling broadly and the people in the stands were rising to their feet. "Come on up and get this trophy, Bobby," Reagan said.

With a little push from a couple of his teammates, Bobby stumbled forward. The cheers rose in volume, and in numb wonderment, he shuffled to center court. Reagan handed him a beautiful foot-high golden statue – a player dunking the basketball. Covering the mike, the commissioner told him, "We'll have to borrow it back later to get your name engraved." Bobby managed to nod, still overwhelmed. "Think you can say a few words?" Reagan asked him. "The crowd would love it."

Bobby's face paled, but he realized he had a responsibility to acknowledge the fans. "I-I c-can try," he said. Reagan handed him the mike, and he turned to look at a sea of faces in the still-packed stands. His vision blurred momentarily, but then it cleared as his eyes settled on Alex, dancing lightly on her feet, wearing a huge smile of pride, with her arms in a self-hug of delight. The pounding of his heart calmed a little, and he took a steadying breath. The crowd fell silent.

"Th-this game tonight … a-and this whole season … are a dream come true for me," he said, his voice growing more confident as he spoke. "Just to be a part of this team, to be welcomed by a great group of guys, has been an experience I'll never forget. And then to play for a championship … and to win … it feels … well, I don't even have the words to describe it," he said, shaking his head. The crowd laughed and clapped for him again.

"As for this …" he looked at the trophy cradled in his left paw, "I don't feel worthy of it. All of these guys to my left are my MVPs … and the special people in the stands who mean so much to me. You know who you are." He met Alex's eyes again and smiled shyly. "I'm humbled and honored. Thank you all!"

He handed the mike back to Reagan, who patted him on the back and nodded as the cheers started another crescendo. With the applause ringing in his ears, he raised the trophy high for the side of the arena he was facing to see and then turned to acknowledge the opposite side, still holding the hardware high. Another chant began behind the 1PP bench and spread quickly through the crowd: "M-V-P, M-V-P, M-V-P!" Bobby suddenly realized that even his teammates were clapping and yelling. Embarrassed but with a smile of joy that he couldn't contain, he kept his head down as he returned to his spot in line.

Eventually the crowd settled down, and Reagan brought the festivities to an end with words of caution for everyone to celebrate soberly and drive home safely. Bobby and Mike headed to the locker room with the rest of the team, but they managed to exchange grins and waves with their partners before disappearing into the tunnel.

The players' shouts, laughter and horseplay slowed the process of showering and getting dressed. No one was in a hurry for the championship celebration to end. While the others lingered and relived their triumph, a freshly soaked and dried Bobby reported to Stitch and Doc Hadley for another check.

This time he acknowledged his wrist problem to the doctor, so another set of X-rays was done, and sure enough, there was a small crack in one of the bones. Hadley just shook his head and sighed. "Goren, I don't know what we're going to do with you," he said.

"Whatever you decide, it's OK now," Bobby told him. "The game's over. I got what I wanted, so I'll cooperate."

"Let's start with a trip to my office. I want to get a cast on that wrist. You're lucky that's no worse than it is, especially considering the fall you took."

"I was trying to protect it."

"That's probably why you hurt your shoulder," Stitch told Bobby while adjusting the sling that was now helping to protect both his shoulder and his wrist.

Bobby nodded, then added, "I appreciate everything you guys did to help me keep playing. It was worth it."

After promising to meet Hadley in a half-hour at the address the doctor had given him, Bobby returned to the locker area. As he was gathering his gear, he filled Mike in.

"Man, you can't miss the celebration!" Mike told him. "You and Alex have to come to O'Halloran's Bar when you're done. Everybody's going there, and I'm sure we'll close the place down."

"Hey, I forgot. We're your ride," Bobby said, frowning, as he put his left arm in his coat sleeve.

"No problem," Mike replied with a grin, helping Bobby get the other side of the coat around his injured shoulder. "There are plenty of guys here who can get Carolyn and me to the party. But you need to be there too. We can't celebrate without our MVP … and his MVP!"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, this is all too much fun to miss. I've been waiting a long time to be a part of something like this. We'll call you when we leave the doctor's office so you'll know we're on our way."

He left his bag partly unzipped and slipped his trophy and medal just inside. Nodding to Mike and waving to his happy teammates, he picked up the bag and left the locker room.

Outside, in the dim hallway, he found Alex leaning against a wall, talking quietly with Carolyn, a little beyond the knot of relatives and friends awaiting the rest of the team. Bobby set down his bag, pulled out the trophy and handed it to his partner, and the two women admired it. "You two and Mike all had a huge hand in this," he told them. Carolyn hugged him, and Alex risked a quick kiss.

"Mike will be out in a minute," Bobby told Carolyn. "Everybody's going to O'Halloran's, but I need to stop and get a cast on my wrist first."

"It's broken?" Alex asked, eyes wide.

"Just a little crack. Nothing to worry about," he said reassuringly. "I could use some help getting to the doctor's office, though."

"What about Mike and Carolyn?" Alex asked.

"Mike said they can catch a ride with someone else, and then we'll take them home later."

"Don't worry," Carolyn said with a laugh. "You two get going so you can meet up with us faster."

"OK. See you there," Alex said with a smile, and the two partners headed off down the hall, arm in arm.

Just before they reached the metal doors leading outside, a man stepped out of the shadows of an adjoining hallway to their left. "Goren?" he asked quietly.

Bobby and Alex stopped, and Bobby turned to peer at the deeply lined face of an elderly gentleman in a worn but well-kept gray overcoat. His stooped frame was just a few inches shorter than Bobby's.

"Remember me?" the man asked.

Bobby's brow wrinkled as he tried to place the voice and the slightly familiar face in the dim light. After a few seconds, realization dawned. "C-Coach Donovan?"

"Yeah," the old man said, nodding slowly. "I wasn't sure you'd recognize me after all these years."

Bobby recovered quickly. Motioning to Alex, he said, "Alex, this is Glenn Donovan. He was the varsity basketball coach at my high school. Coach, this is Detective Alex Eames, my partner … a-and my best friend." Bobby wasn't quite sure why he'd added that, but he felt a need to let his former coach know he was cared for as more than just someone's co-worker. Something about being worthy, perhaps. Maybe he would analyze it later.

The old man reached to shake Alex's hand. Her narrowed eyes told him she knew something of the role he had played in Bobby's life. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. I've read a lot about you."

Startled, Alex hesitated and then shook the offered hand. "You've read about me?" she repeated uncertainly.

"Yes, ma'am. I've followed Goren's career in the papers, and so, of course, I've read about both of you," he said, his weathered face wrinkling into a smile. "You two are quite the crime solvers."

"We do what we can," Alex said modestly and a bit warily.

Bobby stood silently, unsure what to say. Donovan turned to him again. "I probably should have made an effort to contact you before this, but it's one of many things in my life I was too slow to realize and too selfish to do," he told the big detective. "I come to this game every year, and I was surprised to see you playing. So I decided I wouldn't put it off any longer."

Bobby's eyebrows rose, but still he said nothing.

Clearing his throat, the old coach continued, "I made a huge mistake a few decades ago. It wasn't until years later that I heard enough neighborhood news and gossip to understand what was going on and guess what had probably happened to you."

Bobby frowned and looked at his feet.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable," Donovan told him quickly. "Goodness knows, I did enough of that when you were in high school. I just wanted to say I'm sorry I was so angry at your brother that I jumped to the wrong conclusions about you so long ago. And I wanted to tell you I am really impressed with how you turned out. You sure made something of yourself. Seems like as far as your NYPD career goes, you are one of the finest of the Finest."

That brought a light to Bobby's eyes. Alex could see the hurt melting away, replaced by surprise and a bit of pride. "Thanks, Coach," he said softly. "It means something to hear you say that."

The old coach grinned. "Not only that, but you are one helluva basketball player. I may have cost myself a couple of championships with my own stupidity."

Bobby met his eyes appreciatively. "It's kind of you to say that. You won plenty of them without me, though."

"Coulda won more with you," Donovan said. Then he looked sad. "Maybe coulda helped a young man find his way a little easier if I'd looked at the situation a little more carefully."

"It's OK, Coach. I guess I've gotten enough help along the way. Things have turned out pretty well, all in all," Bobby said. He took a deep breath, looked at Alex and smiled. "Right now I can't say I have any complaints."

"Well, it's sure good to hear that," the coach told him. "Congratulations on a great game tonight and a well-deserved MVP trophy."

"Thanks, Coach. Thanks a lot," Bobby said with a grin. "I heard you retired a few years ago. Are you doing all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Just fine. My wife and I each have a nice little pension, and we're in good health. I still scout a bit too, on a free-lance basis. See all sorts of games whenever I can. Everybody knows me, so I get in free most places. … I paid tonight, though," he added. "It's a great cause."

Bobby smiled and nodded. He realized he felt genuinely glad that his old coach was well. A weight seemed to be lifted off his shoulders.

"Well, I'd better get going," Donovan said. "I reckon you've got some celebrating to do." He shook Alex's hand again, clasped Bobby's good left hand in both of his and then turned to leave.

As Bobby watched him walk away, Alex slipped her arm in his and leaned lightly against him. "How about that?" she said softly.

"Yeah. How about that?" Bobby shook his head, amazed. He stood silently for a moment, then took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "Wow. This is definitely a night to remember."

Alex grinned up at him and poked him lightly in the ribs. "And just think … it's not over yet."

**All that's left is the epilogue. If you want to know whether Bobby has surgery and whether Alex makes it to the Boston Marathon, stay tuned!**


	37. Epilogue

**Well, this is it: the final installment of "Holding Court." Thanks to all of you who have been enormously patient as I have taken just this side of forever to finish. And a special thanks to TeddyMo, who has done a wonderful job of being my conscience about finishing – with encouraging words and no shaming for my procrastination. TeddyMo, this is for you!**

**Epilogue**

A soft, gray light suffused the hotel room as thick curtains shielded the streaks of Boston's dawn outside. The air-conditioned chill felt good on Bobby's stubbled cheeks. From the waist down, he was covered by a thick blanket, and his torso was warmed by Alex, sleeping soundly, her head on his chest and her fingers softly grasping the hem of his white cotton T-shirt.

Bobby smiled down at her, pride, love and joy filling his heart as he gently ran his fingers through her hair and then caressed her back. Yesterday had been exhausting, and today he was definitely going to pamper her – starting with making sure she slept as long as she could. He could use a little extra rest too, he thought, yawning.

This time the previous day, they had already been up for a couple of hours. Alex had joined the runners in her group to be bused to the Boston Marathon starting area in Hopkinton, and Bobby had mounted a bicycle for an odyssey almost as challenging as hers.

He smiled as he thought about how all his research – many hours on the computer, countless phone calls and even a few meetings with strangers who had attended the race multiple times – had paid off with the perfect route for him to ride, more or less parallel to the marathon course. Armed with binoculars, a couple of stopwatches, a backpack with water and snacks and his hand-drawn maps, he had carefully tracked Alex through the towns and open spaces on the route, spotting her from high ground in crowded areas (it helped to be 6-4) and drawing nearer in some sparsely attended spots. She wasn't too hard to pick out in her navy blue NYPD shorts and white top – and Bobby had never had a hard time finding her in a crowd anyway. When he was close enough, he would shout encouragement – including relaying her times from his stopwatches at various points, letting her know she was still on pace for a time under her goal of 3 hours, 20 minutes. That would be a five-minute drop from her personal best.

It had been an intense morning and early afternoon for him, and he was glad he had taken up cycling to help pace her training for the past couple of months. He realized that he never would have been able to pull off his part of the big day's journey had he not spent so many hours on the bike. And it meant so much to him! He wanted to be there for her in her big competition, just as she had been there for him. He wanted her to be able to look to the sidelines and see him cheering her on, just as he had looked to her in the crowd at his basketball games and found the strength and encouragement he needed to keep going.

Alex stirred in his arms, sighed contentedly and settled again, never opening her eyes. Bobby couldn't help but grin as he watched her. When her breathing told him she was back to sleeping deeply, he lifted his right hand, flexed his fingers and rolled his wrist around. A little sore but not too bad, he thought.

His shoulder and wrist had gotten rather tired yesterday. The wrist was almost fully recovered from the break during basketball season, but it had been a strain to work the hand controls of the bike for so long. And his shoulder was definitely sore this morning. He was glad he hadn't needed major surgery after the championship game; that would have messed up his effort to help Alex train. Fortunately, the doctor had recommended an arthroscopic procedure to do some cleanup and then therapy to strengthen the ligaments, tendons and muscles to keep the shoulder in place. And with a little prodding from Alex, Bobby had stuck with his therapy routine. But yesterday had definitely been a test, and he was relieved that today's shoulder soreness wasn't much worse. Instead, it felt natural – just a bit of overuse, with no sharp pain that might indicate new damage.

He had not really felt the strain on his own body while the race was going on. His focus had been entirely on Alex, so much so that he thought he could feel her pain – particularly as she labored up Heartbreak Hill, with seemingly every muscle in her body screaming for her to stop, and yet knowing she still had six more miles to go. He had feared for her in that excruciating stretch and tried to mentally connect and will her on. He had no idea whether it had helped, but she made it up the hill, and a few miles later she seemed to get a second wind. Euphoric, she picked up her pace again, and Bobby's final shouted time before he hustled off to the finish area a mile away was just what she need to hear – her goal was still in sight.

Hopping off the bike and chaining it to a post, he had used his considerable size and adroit maneuvering to push his way through the crowd to a prearranged spot where Mike and Carolyn were staked out with a view of the finish line. He didn't mind annoying a few people for an occasion like this, and his physique and demeanor had a way of persuading people to make room. He arrived just in time to see Alex run the last 40 yards to the finish line. Clicking his stopwatch, he checked the time – 3:18:26 – and shouted, "YES! You did it!"

Remarkably, she had heard his voice over the din, and relief spread across her face as she came to a stop on shaky legs and bent at the waist, hands on her knees, taking in great gasps of air. It was over. It was OVER! She had done it. She lifted her head, and her eyes, bright with triumph, met his. And soon she was in Bobby's arms as he lifted her off her blistered feet and pulled her to his chest. Then Mike and Carolyn joined in the hug. For all four, it was a moment they would never forget.

A huge smile spread across Bobby's face as he lay in the bed, holding his precious Alex on his chest. He would cherish that memory, that look in her eyes – and the love he saw there as they laughed and celebrated the rest of the day and night with Mike and Carolyn.

What a day it was ... and what a year this has been, he mused. It was hard to believe how far he had come from his brokenness at the time of his mother's death. But the darkness and pain that had dogged him since he was a little boy had been gradually receding as friendships and a love he never thought he would experience had worked their healing magic in his heart.

For the first time in his life, he could say he was truly, completely happy.

Alex stirred again and yawned. "Mmmmpf," she said drowsily, lifting her head a few inches off his T-shirt and rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Early," he said, grinning. "Too early for tired marathoners who have earned their rest."

"OK," she said softly, laying her head back down and snuggling into his chest. "I'll just sleep a little more. … I love you."

"I love you too," he said, pure joy lighting his smile and brightening his eyes. Relaxed and content, he resumed caressing her back. No hurry, and no worries, he thought.

It was going to be a great day.

**The End**


End file.
